Coming Clean
by Perspex13
Summary: Castle realizes that he needs to come clean about prying into Beckett's life again after he discovers something he can't justify keeping from her. Set during Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Coming Clean

Rating: T

Timeline: Mid Season 4.

Summary: Castle realizes that he needs to come clean about prying into Beckett's life again after he discovers something he can't justify keeping from her. One-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Smart people warned me that this would happen. I know I should be working on my other story, but something about being in the middle of a multi-chapter story makes all these one-shot ideas keep popping into my head. I couldn't shake this one loose, so I'm indulging a brief diversion.

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* * *

"Castle! Will you please _sit still_?!" Beckett growls in exasperation. "Seriously, what is your problem today? We don't even have a case. Maybe you should leave. I'll call you if anything happens."

"Sorry, Beckett, sorry," Castle mumbles as he clasps his hands in his lap again. He's trying desperately to look contrite, but his frayed nerves shine through instead. Within 30 seconds, his hands are roaming again, one messing with his phone with the other taps out an arrhythmic beat on his knee.

"Castle…," Beckett moans in exasperation while pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Okay. Yeah, you're right. I should go. Just … can we talk? Tonight? There's something I need to talk to you about. Can I stop by … uh … tonight?" Castle asks.

This is the author, the talkative wordsmith? He's actually babbling, Beckett realizes, not just running on as usual.

"Castle, is everything alright?" Becket asks, feeling a little guilty that she might have missed some actual distress that's been causing his restlessness.

"No," Castle replies in a low tone before releasing a bone-weary sigh, rolling his head back, and closing his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Beckett asks. When Castle doesn't answer, she reaches out and places a hand on his knee.

The effect is immediate. Castle's head snaps forward and he looks on in alarm as he kicks off and shoves the chair two feet back. The legs on the ancient chair create a piercing screech on the tile floor, causing chalkboard-scratching shivers and irate looks from around the bullpen. After a pregnant pause during which many glares find Castle, people slowly return to work.

Beckett, meanwhile, is trying to figure out if she should be concerned about whatever's bothering Castle or offended at his reaction to her touch.

"Not here," Castle says, looking cornered. "Eight o'clock. I'll stop by then. Is that okay? Eight o'clock."

Still confused by his uncharacteristically awkward speech and obvious discomfort, Beckett just nods.

Castle slowly rises and jumps sideways when his efforts to return the chair to its place causes another attention-grabbing shriek. Ignoring the raised eyebrows and sour looks from around the bullpen, he sidles over to Ryan and Esposito who both watch him with wary concern.

"See you around, fellas," Castle says while offering a first bump to each of the boys.

His farewell accomplished, Castle takes a long look around, then heads for the stairs without another word.

"What the hell was that about?" Esposito asks while Ryan looks on in confusion.

"I have no idea," Beckett, still looking toward the stairwell even though Castle's already long gone.

* * *

It's two minutes before 8:00 when she hears a knock on the door of her apartment. Beckett's changed into casual clothes – a ratty old NYPD sweatshirt and leggings – in an effort to relax. But it hasn't worked. She was no more able to concentrate on work after Castle's bizarre exit than she had while he was there fidgeting. In fact, the more time that passed, the more concerned she became about whatever it is that turned him into such an inarticulate mess.

So, with both trepidation and curiosity, she opens the door to find Castle standing there, looking much as he did when he left the precinct, save for the satchel that he picked up somewhere.

"Hey Castle, come on in," she offers, drawing the door wide and trying to prompt some reaction from him that will let her know where his head is at after this afternoon.

"Hi Beckett," he returns, sounding much more like his normal self.

Smiling in relief, Beckett offers a drink and Castle gladly accepts a water. And then two more.

"Sorry, guess I didn't realize how thirsty I was," Castle said. "Been wandering around for a while, trying to get my thoughts in order."

"Castle, did you walk all the way here from your place?" Beckett asks in surprise.

"Uh, yeah, I did, I guess. But I did it slowly, just meandered over after leaving the precinct and picking something up at home," Castle says with a shrug.

"Castle, that was five hours ago!" Beckett says, her concern about whatever's going on ramping up again. He's told her that he likes to take long walks (but not runs) to turn over ideas for his writing, that moving around and seeing people helps him come up with new character ideas and potential plot points. But, it doesn't sound like this afternoon's ramble had anything to do with his writing endeavors.

"Your feet must be killing you," she says, looking at his expensive dress shoes. "Why not sit down and relax for a bit?"

"Improper footwear still beats a hair shirt," Castle confesses as he lowers himself gently into the chair in Beckett's living room, placing himself as far as possible from where she's positioned herself on the couch, and on the other side of the coffee table. It doesn't require her detective skills to see that Castle is distancing himself from her, putting barriers between them. Nor does she miss that he's barely sitting, resting on the edge of the cushion and coiled like a spring to shoot up at a moment's notice.

"Castle, you're starting to freak me out a bit here," Beckett confesses, lacing her words with compassion in an attempt to draw Castle out, invite his confidence. "What's going on – what's got you so worked up?"

Castle stares at the floor for a moment, apparently getting his thoughts in order. Then, following a short sigh, he looks her straight in eye and says "we lie to each other, right?"

Oh, no, thinks Beckett. Is that what this is about – her feigned ignorance about his confession of love? A sick feeling starts to radiate from deep in her chest, inches behind her new scar.

"To protect each other, I mean. To shield each other," Castle continues, not explaining himself very well but apparently unaware that his message isn't getting through.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Castle," Beckett stalls, hoping that he'll explain himself and save her the need to dwell on the lie that's most on her mind.

"Like … I don't know. Like … Kitty Canary – you figured out the counterfeiting before I did, but you pretended otherwise because it gave us a way to come back together," he explains while his looking down at the floor.

"Or maybe when people ask you what it's like to have me underfoot – you are kinder than you should be, to protect my feelings," he continues. "Or maybe like when I say I was just passing by your favorite coffee shop, as if we don't both know that it's nowhere near on the way to the precinct from my loft."

The last example is light enough to prompt a smile, and Beckett hopes that they're turning a corner, moving towards something less fraught and dangerous.

"There are bigger secrets, bigger lies," Castle continues, dashing Beckett's hopes. "And that's okay. We're private people, we have lives outside the precinct. We also know each other well, know what the other is capable of, their hopes and fears. I trust you, Beckett, to protect me, to act in my interest even if you do so silently."

Beckett nods warily, still not sure what's going on or what Castle is talking about, but glad that he's not pushing for disclosure. He seems to understand that there are things that she's not ready to talk about. She appreciates his restraint, and his trust.

"Thank you, Castle," she replies. "I trust you, too."

"Maybe you shouldn't," Castle says, running his hand through his hair. It's apparent that he's done this often this afternoon, as his hair is getting spiky and unruly, something that would usually annoy him.

"Castle?" Beckett prompts again, "Tell me what's going on."

"You made it abundantly clear in our first year together," he starts, "that I shouldn't poke around in your private life. But I did it again. I … Well, what I was doing will become painfully obvious when you see it."

He reaches for his satchel on the floor beside him and moves it to his lap. He doesn't open the bag, though. It seems like there's more he wants to say before taking that step.

"I found something that you'll want to see, something I'm pretty sure you don't know about. I found it late last week, but I wanted corroboration before I did anything. That came in yesterday. So, for the last day I've been trying to figure out what to do," he says with a sigh. "But I know what I need to do, I've known it since the beginning. This isn't something to hold back, not something that I can lie about to you, even by omission."

Beckett's bursting with questions, but now she's reticent to interrupt Castle's flow, since he finally seems to be providing some explanation. She's also increasingly concerned about what he's been doing. Their first explosion went back to him poking into her mother's case – is that what this is all about?

Her thoughts are disrupted by Castle's actions as he flips the satchel's cover over and unzips the bag. He reaches in an extracts a thin manila file folder, but still seems reluctant to hand it over.

"I know you're a private person, Kate," Castle says, and his use of her first name heightens her already focused attention. "I think you'll prefer that I not be here when you review this file. In fact, you might prefer that I not be here, or at the precinct, ever again after you read this. I'll, uh, I'll call you next week to see if it's okay to come back."

Beckett has sailed right past alarmed and is now near panic. What the hell is in this file that Castle's so convinced she'll not want to see him again after reading it? What did he do?

"Just … just know that my motives were pure in looking into this, even though it might not seem like it. And I want you to know, too, that I'll do anything I can to help you finish this," he says, waving the file. "Anything at all, no expectations or strings attached."

Then, taking a deep breath, Castle rises slowly to his feet while slinging the satchel strap over his shoulder. That accomplished, he steps towards Beckett and uses his free hand to help her rise from the couch. They're facing each other, him a little taller than usual as she stands barefooted. As he did at the precinct, Castle takes the opportunity, maybe his last, to take a look around her apartment and commit it to memory.

"Thank you, Kate," he says, focusing all of his attention on her. "Try not to think too poorly of me, and remember that I'd like to help."

Castle leans in and drops a gentle kiss on her left cheek. Beckett does nothing to reciprocate, just stands still and breathes him in as he approaches and then withdraws.

Castle reaches for her hand, into which he pushes the edge of the file folder. Then, with one last rueful smile, he tips his head and sees himself out.

* * *

Now that Castle's gone and she has the file in hand, Beckett finds herself reluctant to open the folder. For as many things that have gone wrong in the last year – hell, the last 14 years – she's actually started to feel pretty good about her life. Sure, there are challenges ahead, but her hard work has started to pay off both physically and emotionally. She's got an odd feeling that opening that folder might put that all at risk.

Ultimately, though, Beckett is an investigator. And innately curious – at least as much as Castle, probably more. So she beats back any misgivings as she strides to her kitchen, pulls out a chair, and places the file on the table before her. Then, with a deep breath, she opens the folder.

It may be a thin file, but the very first page leaves her shocked and slack-jawed. After several moments, it's the repeating mantra of "no, no, no" ringing through her mind that brings her back into focus. This can't be right, she thinks, quickly rifling through the remaining papers in the file.

But as each additional sheet confirms the unbelievable facts from the first page, Beckett feels her anger build. It's a two-pronged rage that she feels. At her core, she's beside herself about the contents of the file. But, her fury starts to spill over as she thinks about how this information was gathered. "Motives were pure" my ass, she thinks, wondering how Castle would try to justify the work that unearthed this file, this secret.

And yet, Mount Saint Beckett doesn't erupt. As quickly as her rage has built, she feels the anger draining from her, leaving her feeling empty. If only they had spoken more plainly during their time at the swings, she thinks. No, that's not right. If only she had been more thorough in her own research. If only – and Beckett knows that this is the real issue – if only she had behaved better all those many years ago…

But it doesn't matter, she realizes. None of it matters, none of the "if only"s are relevant now. One of the chief goals in her life is gone, hasn't been possible for years. How did she not realize this? What is she going to do about it? What is she going to tell her father? What is she going to do about Castle, and his offer to help? Her mind still teeming with questions, she cries out the only thing she can think of: "Rogan O'Leary, I'm going to kill you!"

* * *

A/N2: I thought it would be fun to work with something where Castle, Beckett, and the reader were on different pages without realizing it. Here we've got Castle talking about Beckett's marriage and Beckett thinking about her lie about forgetting Montgomery's funeral, while we're thinking about Castle's lie of omission about his agreement with Smith. Of course, if things went this way, Castle would certainly have some additional explaining to do about Smith later, even though he tried to lay the groundwork for his rationale in this conversation. Anyway, it was a fun lark, hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: This story started as a one-shot, a lark while writing Breaking Away. Fair warning: I have absolutely no idea where this story is going. Or when. It just lurks in the back of my head while I'm trying to work on other stuff. So, I figure I'll update it when the mood strikes, but that means it might wander a bit. The first chapter was an attempt at a funny gotcha moment. This one (which had to be broken into two chapters) got unexpectedly serious. So, we'll see what happens.

The next chapter will be up by tomorrow, then I need to disappear for a while to attend to work and home life.

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* * *

As she rides the elevator to Castle's floor, Beckett's again lost in thought about the implications of her longstanding but only recently realized marital status. Her mind has ventured down many different roads since Castle gave her the infamous file just over two days ago. Now, approaching midnight on a Friday, she can't stand the thought of letting those thoughts continue to wander. She needs to talk to Castle, get out of her head for a bit, even if: A) she's not sure what she's going to say to him, and B) she thinks it likely that she'll depart from his loft more out-of-sorts than she'll arrive.

It's no good, though. She might try to turn the thoughts off, but they're still crowding in even as she steps off the elevator and starts down the corridor to his loft. Beckett's starting to feel a little hysterical and smirks slightly as she thinks that if she's this way before she talks to Castle, she'll likely leave his place in a straightjacket.

She's only taken a few steps off the elevator before he catches her attention. "Beckett!" he cries happily as he joins her in the corridor, having just deposited a bag of trash in the garbage chute. Almost immediately, his beaming smile wilts, displaced by a wary look as he tries to assess her mood.

"Hi, Castle," Beckett says soberly as she stops before him.

"How are you?" Castle asks carefully, knowing that this question rarely gets a meaningful answer even when she's in a good mood and he hasn't betrayed her trust. Still, the man can't help himself.

"Still married," she replies as a little of her hysteria colors her tone.

"It's not so bad," Castle says with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. "It's happened to me twice, but I'm still around."

"Thanks, Castle," Beckett says sarcastically as they start to walk down the hallway towards his loft. "You're not exactly the paragon of marital success and contentment that I was hoping to emulate." Even as the words leave her mouth she knows that they're too harsh, but she's barely holding reign on her emotions. Castle doesn't look offended or hurt, though she's started to realize that he's very good at hiding all but the emotions he wants people to see.

"I know, Kate," he says gently. "Trust me, I know. But your situation is only really a technicality, maybe not even that. I'm sure it can be resolved easily if that's what you want."

"_If that's what I want?_" Beckett repeats incredulously. "Do you realize what this means, Castle? I've been married since I was _nineteen_. Oh my god, I was a _teenage bride!_" Beckett wails as thinks about this implication for the first time.

Castle's looking nervous, glancing up and down the corridor to see if anyone is listening. He seems to want to stay here, but Mrs. Turner, the other resident on this floor, has just opened her door to see what the commotion is about.

"Beckett, let's put this on hold for just a bit," Castle suggests as he starts to open the door to his loft. "Just give me a few minutes to –"

"_Put this on hold?_" Beckett replies. "I can't just hit the pause button, Castle," Beckett nearly shouts. "I'm _married!_ I mean, for god's sake, I'm an adulter–hmph," Beckett's cut off as Castle's hand covers her mouth.

Beckett's shooting daggers at Castle with her eyes and thinking about shooting bullets at him, too, when the door opens the rest of the way and Beckett finds herself facing the mayor of New York City.

"Thanks again, Rick," Mayor Weldon says as he pulls his blazer on and straightens his tie.

"No problem, Bob. I'm always happy to take money from a politician," Castle says with a smile, having nonchalantly dropped his hand that muffled Beckett's outburst.

"Yeah, since it usually works the other way around!" says a sandy-haired man who Beckett doesn't recognize as he walks towards them from the poker table Castle set up in his lounge.

Ever the gracious and charming host, Castle introduces Beckett to tonight's poker companions as they depart his loft, two of them wobbling noticeably and one of them drunk enough to ogle her openly before giving her a saucy wink.

"_Pig_," Castle says as he closes the door. "I'll be damned if I let _him_ into my home again," he mutters. Despite her scattered thoughts and her conflicted feelings about her partner, Beckett's happy to see that he's still attentive to her, still looking out for her. The warmth of this feeling helps re-center her a bit.

"So," Castle says with a brighter tone as he runs his hand through his hair and wanders over to the poker table to collect his drink. "What can I do for you, Beckett? Is this a social visit or should I call my HMO to get preapproved for an emergency room visit?"

Shaking her head to his offer of a drink, Beckett sits on the sofa while Castle pulls up one of the chairs from the poker table.

"I want you to do two things for me, Castle," Beckett says authoritatively, having finally decided on a course of action.

"Anything," he replies, and in her mind it has the same intonation and implication as 'always.'

"I'd like to meet with your attorney to get this … resolved," Beckett starts. "I haven't been able to focus at work and I don't want this hanging over my head. Can we do something on Monday?"

Beckett's surprised to see that Castle's already withdrawn and dialed his phone even before she finished her question.

"Hey Fitz, it's Rick," Castle says into the phone. Beckett's sitting close to him, but she can't quite hear the responding voice, which instead reaches her as a low buzz.

"I need your expertise to dissolve a marriage," Castle explains to his attorney, "with some unusual extenuating circumstances. No, not for me this time," he says with a chuckle. "How soon can we meet?" After a pause to listen, Castle looks at Beckett and covers the phone's mouthpiece as he asks "3:00 tomorrow afternoon?"

She nods in reply a little dumbly, a little surprised (though really, she thinks, she shouldn't be) that Castle can call his attorney after midnight on a Friday night and get an appointment on a Saturday afternoon. "Tomorrow at 3:00 is great. This is for a friend of mine. I'll bring her over, make the introductions, then get out of the way. Thanks, Fitz," Castle says warmly as he rings off.

"There," Castle exclaims. "One down, one to go. What else can I do for you, Detective?"

"You can take me to dinner after I meet with this 'Fitz' tomorrow," she says, then continues quickly to squash the look of delight that's started to blossom on Castle's face. "Don't get any ideas, Castle, this isn't going to be a fun dinner for you. You're taking me out to apologize for tromping into my personal life _again_. I'm also looking forward to hearing how you'll explain how your 'motives were pure,'" she continues with a skewering look. "And, so help me, if there is one camera flash or even a single whisper of this outing to the media, I'll shoot you. Multiple times," Beckett concludes with a glower as she rises from her seat and heads towards the door.

"Understood," Castle replies, "I'll pick you up tomorrow at 2:30?"

Beckett nods, then departs with a "Goodnight" that's much more gentle than the words and looks she's delivered so far this evening, accompanied by a quick squeeze of his hand to let him know that she's grateful for his help despite her fierce demeanor.

"Until tomorrow, Detective."

* * *

"Fitz, this is Katherine Beckett," Castle introduces. "Kate, this is William Fitzpatrick." After handshakes are exchanged, Fitz walks behind his desk and seats himself while Castle holds a chair out for Beckett. As Castle takes a seat next to her, Beckett considers the attorney. He's a little older than she expected, maybe pushing 60. He's a bit overweight and is dressed down for a Saturday, wearing khakis and an oxford shirt with no tie. He looks a little uncomfortable, like he might be more at ease in a full suit. Still, his smile is infectious, and the wrinkles on his face suggest that he likes to laugh. She'd expect nothing less of an associate of Castle's.

The office is another surprise – she had expected a sleek office in a skyscraper, an office brimming with overstuffed red leather furniture and oak and brass finishings. Instead, Fitz works out of a contemporary converted brownstone swimming in natural brightness from an enormous skylight.

"I'll leave Kate to describe the circumstances we'd like you to address," Castle says to Fitz, catching Beckett's attention. "What do you need me to sign to cover this under our usual arrangement?" As Castle signs the document that Fitz had waiting, he continues talking. "Please give her _anything_ she wants and create a separate file for her materials to keep them confidential from me and everyone else." Beckett nods, thankful that Castle addressed this directly.

"Sure thing, Rick," Fitz says amiably as he spins in his chair and pulls an accordion folder from a file cabinet behind him. "I'll just put this release in Ms. Beckett's folder in your file," he says as he opens the folder and drops the release into one of the manila folders within.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to it. Beckett, I'll be in the park across the way. I've got some writing to catch up on, so I'll just type until you're ready for dinner," Castle says as he rises from his chair. "Fitz, please take good care of her." Then, after a quick handshake and shoulder slap, Castle excuses himself.

"So, Ms. Beckett," Fitz starts, but Beckett interrupts.

"Actually, please call me Kate. I've just learned that since I was 19, I've technically been Mrs. O'Leary," Beckett says while looking down.

"Ah. We must be getting into the 'extenuating circumstances.' You're a friend of Rick's – why don't you tell me a story?"

As Beckett shares the details of her situation and hands over her file with the related paperwork, Fitz's eyebrows rise and the corner of his lips turn up as he stifles a smile.

"Right then," he says jovially as she finishes. "First things first. Have a drink," Fitz says as he pulls out a tumbler from a desk drawer and reverently withdraws a bottle of the liquor that was at the heart of the case that lead to Castle purchasing the Old Haunt. Noticing that Beckett recognizes the bottle, Fitz shrugs and says "Rick's a good friend."

After Beckett knocks back a drink, Fitz nods approvingly. "Okay, next up. Let's talk about how to proceed. Based on your comments, it sounds like there isn't anything to attempt to reconcile?"

"No. Hell no," Beckett says. "I might've thought about him three times in the last decade, usually when reminding myself that regardless of how bad someone is, he's not as bad as Rogan."

"I figured," Fitz laughs. "But you'll appreciate that I had to ask. So, then the question becomes how we do this. On a spectrum ranging from 'hand-holding nice' to 'crashing down like a landslide,' how would you prefer that we approach Mr. O'Leary?"

"I'm … not sure. I'd prefer not to interact with him at all," Beckett sighs. "I guess it depends on what he's done. If he's in the dark about this too, there's no reason to be aggressive."

"May I make a suggestion?" Fitz asks kindly. "Let me make a few calls. There are some places we can check to get a quick read on whether Mr. O'Leary is aware of his marital status."

"But it's Saturday," Beckett objects.

Waving her off, Fitz stands. "Not a problem. Is there anything I can I get you while I make some calls?"

"No, thank you," Beckett says automatically. But, before Fitz can take a few steps, Beckett has a devious thought. Maybe it's all this talk of Rogan bringing her back to her K-Becks days. Or, maybe it's a reaction to Castle blundering into her private life again. Whatever the reason, she decides to push her luck.

"Actually, yes," Beckett corrects. "I'd like to see my file."

"Your file?" Fitz asks.

"Yes, my file in Castle's folder," Beckett says without guile.

Fitz pauses, stuck between a pleasant response and concern about Rick as his friend and client.

"Castle said that I could look at anything, so I'd like to see my file," Beckett pushes, figuring that in the worst case, Fitz will simply say no.

"He did say that, didn't he?" Fitz says with a bemused expression. After another moment's thought, he agrees. "Alrighty, here you go," he says as he withdraws her file from Castle's folder. "Let me make some calls – shouldn't take more than 15 or 20 minutes."

After waiting for the door to close behind Fitz, Beckett considers the folder in her hand. She's wondering if she should feel guilty about looking at the file, but then disregards the thought. It's not as if Castle's been able to control himself around information, and besides, it's _her_ file. She's entitled to see what's in here, right?

Having talked herself into it, Beckett turns her seat so that she can be more attentive to the noises in the hallway that might warn her of Fitz's return. Once repositioned, she opens the folder.

There are three items in the folder aside from the release that Castle signed at the beginning of this meeting. Beckett takes a quick inventory: a thick document in an unsealed envelope, a thin document in a sealed envelope, and a USB drive in a plastic bag labeled with a date from just over a week ago.

Picking up the sealed envelope first, Beckett turns it over in her hands. Addressed to _My dearest Kate_ in Castle's distinctive handwriting, there's no way to know what's inside. Holding the envelope over her head to see if the contents are thin enough to be read with strong light, her attempts are foiled again. Short of steaming the envelope open or something similarly devious, there's no proceeding on this front. Which is too bad, she thinks, as her heart's beating a little faster just from imagining the possibilities.

Time to move on, she thinks, worried that Fitz will return soon. Next up: the USB drive. She's not sure what to make of the date on the plastic bag – nothing special's happened in the past two weeks, certainly nothing that would need to be documented and put into a legal file. Beckett's cursing herself for not bringing her laptop with her before she makes a tantalizing realization: she's got a few USB drives in her pocketbook.

Grabbing her bag quickly and rummaging around, she finds three USB drives, including one that she thought had been lost long ago. Two are obviously different and distinctive (including the one that Castle gave her, a fierce ninja who proved insufficiently trained to survive the rigors of Beckett's pocketbook as he's down to one arm and one leg), but the third is a near match to the drive in the plastic bag. Not letting herself dwell on her decision, Beckett quickly swaps the drives, pocketing the drive from her file. She'll check it out back in her apartment and return it during her next visit to Fitz, if necessary.

Feeling just a shadow of guilt, Beckett turns to the thick envelope. Extracting the thick sheaf of papers, she unfolds them and presses out the creases to make the document easier to read. The first page is clearly labeled in stark font: _Last Will and Testament, Richard Edgar Castle, F/K/A Richard Alexander Rodgers_.

Looking at her watch and then at the door, Beckett pauses again to consider how far she's going to let this go. She's got about 10 minutes left until the early side of Fitz's time estimate. _I'll never manage to make it that long without peeking_, Beckett thinks_, so I might as well dig right in_.

"_I, Richard Edgar Castle, being of soundest mind and fabulous body…_" Good grief, Beckett thinks, the man can't even take his own will seriously. Skipping the preamble, she flips a few pages until she reaches Schedule A, a summary of the audited value of Castle's wealth and assets as of last calendar year. Scanning the summary, Beckett feels her jaw drop. This doesn't match the background check they ran on Castle _at all_.

Flipping to the full Exhibit at the end of the document, Beckett runs her finger down the column of assets. That wily bastard. Castle's resources far exceed what they'd found when they checked him out. There are the domestic bank accounts that turned up in their search, and some of the investment accounts. But the foreign accounts, the incorporated legal entities that organize his land and commercial investments, the trust accounts that he's set up – those had all escaped detection. And when coldly assessed by an auditor, the summed value of the breadth of his estate provides a number that Beckett has to check between the Exhibit and the Schedule to make sure she's reading it right. But the number is the same in both places.

Eight digits, excluding trusts. Eight digits, easy, without including the loft, the Hamptons house, the Haunt, and the net present value of expected royalty streams. Plus, Castle's made enough references to "being ready" for her to suspect that he's got some serious cash tucked away strategically, too.

Flipping back to the Schedule, Beckett sees that the will is set up to be easily updated and adjusted: the Schedule provides an estimate of Castle's estate, then the rest of the document divides and directs that total. Alexis gets 40 percent and the choice of which assets or accounts she prefers to reach that percentage. Beckett is next with a 20 percent stake. Martha follows, if she outlives her son (and her share to Alexis if not), with 20 percent.

Twenty percent, Beckett thinks as she rubs her forehead, trying to ward off the headache that her snooping has provoked. It's never been a secret that Castle is wealthy, even if he's hidden some of his efforts. But 20 percent of the whole estate! It's ridiculous, a daunting total that terrifies Beckett. She hasn't the faintest idea how she'd manage it, what she'd do. And the sudden realization that she'd only be in that situation if she didn't have Castle to turn to makes her stomach twist and her heart ache.

This was a mistake, she admits to herself. She never should have opened the file, never should have read his will. How in the hell is she supposed to go to dinner with him and pretend that she hasn't seen this? It'll never work. He knows her too well. He'll know that something's bothering her, and he'll know that it isn't about her ersatz husband. She thinks back to his jumbled comments about lying to protect each other and wonders if Castle knew she'd react this way and downplayed his situation in deference to her.

Even as she's lamenting the trouble she's bought for herself, though, a niggling thought worms its way into her mind. It taunts her and tempts her until ultimately she's forced to face it: there's 20 percent unaccounted for. With a deep breath, Beckett turns back to the document, figuring that if she's already damned, she might as well do a proper job of it.

The instructions for the last 20 percent of Castle's estate differ from his provisions for Alexis, Martha, and Beckett. Anything remaining is to be sold, creating a fund from which Castle has set up deductions. Her mother's educational fund gets 20 percent of the remainder for an endowment. The boys and Lanie each get 10 percent of the remainder. There's also an allocation for Castle's attorney and financial advisor, both of whom are to provide advice to anyone named in the will to help with estate taxes or the creation of trusts or retirement accounts. Trust Castle to have anticipated the difficulty that his gifts might cause his friends and family, Beckett thinks fondly.

The will ends with a list of specific amounts to be anonymously donated to the identified groups or individuals. Running her eyes down this list provides a series of shocks. Third on the list is the AA chapter that provides the services that finally helped her father. Sixth on the list is an amount to replace all the coffee machines at the 12th. Tenth on the list is a donation from "an anonymous, naked donor" to the NYPD's equestrian division. And littered throughout the list are the families and friends of victims that Castle's encountered while shadowing her.

It's so unbearably sweet and thoughtful that Beckett can't help the tears that defy her by escaping to run down her cheeks. She's still sniffling when a handkerchief appears in front of her. Beckett's shocked and embarrassed that she hadn't noticed Fitz's return. For his part, he kindly remains silent while Beckett collects herself and returns the will to the envelope.

"He's a good man," Fitz says simply after sitting down. "I don't doubt that he gets into trouble, and I don't know how he got into the doghouse with you, but try not to hurt him too badly."

Beckett chuffs out a laugh, thankful that Fitz seems to have some of Castle's gift for the tactical use of humor.

"What did you find out?" Beckett asks as a way of getting this meeting back on track.

"Unlike Rick, it's pretty clear that Rogan is _not_ a good man," Fitz says while dropping the humor from his tone. "Not only has he known about your marital status, but he's been trading on it since dropping out of Stanford. In addition to our effort to dissolve the union, we'll also need to look into your credit history and tax filings, I'm afraid."

This disconcerting news finishes the job of getting Beckett back on track, and her instincts are telling her that Fitz knows more than he's revealed so far.

"Please tell me all of it," she requests, "I need to know exactly how much trouble I'm in."

"You're good," Fitz praises. "I can't bluff Rick either, but I do pretty well with everyone else." Rather than engage, Beckett merely raises a brow to prompt Fitz. "This last bit is … unsavory, but it might not affect you directly. It seems that Mr. O'Leary's selfless efforts to provide for his comatose wife have won undue consideration from charity groups and female admirers."

"Really," Beckett says in a flat tone. "Comatose."

"I'm afraid so," Fitz says in a serious tone. "I was heartbroken to hear about the terrible accident that rendered you unconscious, especially considering that it terminated your pregnancy."

"He said that?" Beckett says as her temper fully ignites.

"Sadly, yes. That same accident is also identified as the cause of Mr. O'Leary's disability status."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Beckett takes a deep breath. "Fitz, please don't tell me anything more. I'm a sworn officer and I don't want to hear more details that I might be obligated to pursue. I have enough information to know what I need to do."

Fitz nods, then smiles. "Okay! Next verse, same as the first," he says as he pours another shot for Beckett, who happily obliges. "Next: hand-holding or landslide?"

"Screw landslide," Beckett says, "I want an avalanche. I want him so scared that he signs whatever he has to sign without trying to play an angle. I want him so scared that even after signing, he has to look over his shoulder for fear that something else is coming."

Fitz chuckles and nods again. "I assume that you want nothing from him, and want to give him nothing?" At Beckett's quick nod, he rubs his hands together and leans back in his chair.

"Okay, then we're on the same page and I know what to do. While there don't appear to be any external timing constraints, I suggest we do this quickly now that the situation has come to light. We should be ready to move by Wednesday. Will that be acceptable?"

"Wednesday?" Beckett says in surprise. A week from learning of her predicament and resolving it? "That's more than acceptable – that's fantastic."

"Right then," Fitz says, "we'll get moving. Rick provided your contact information – shall I call your cell phone with any updates?" he says as he rises from his chair.

"Yes, please," Beckett says as she also stands, then hands her file back to Fitz. "I can't thank you enough, Fitz. Both for helping me and for being so pleasant. Other than DAs and my dad, I haven't spent much time with attorneys. I didn't expect this to go so smoothly."

"It was my pleasure, Kate," Fitz says happily. "One of the things I love about this job is that I actually do get to help people sometimes. You seem like a good person and Rick speaks so highly of you that it must be true. How can you not like to work on behalf of good people? But, a word of advice?" Fitz asks, catching Beckett's attention.

"If you say anything about 'not getting married without being sober or engaged first,' our relationship might take a step in the wrong direction," Beckett teases amiably.

"I already gave that advice to Rick, for all the good it did," Fitz laughs. "No, I was thinking about this," he says while waving Beckett's file in his hand. "Even before he started shadowing you, Rick was very careful about taking care of the people he loves. I hope that you've done the same and would be happy to help you if you like."

"I might take you up on that," Beckett says. Compared to Castle's will, her boilerplate document that directs everything to her father seems woefully inadequate. "May I ask you something about Castle's will?"

Pursing his lips, Fitz considers his answer. "Let's hear the question. Rick's my client as well as my friend and I'm careful to guard both aspects of our relationship."

"I just wondered about Meredith and Gina – for as thoughtful as Castle's proven himself, I thought it was odd that neither was included," she confesses, a little disturbed by this omission. It seems a little petty (though understandable) on Castle's part and Beckett wonders if it doesn't put Alexis in an awkward position, especially with Meredith.

But Fitz nods, looking relieved. "I think we're on safe ground with this question. Don't worry about Meredith or Gina. Rick's taken care of both of them in his usual generous manner. A bit too generous, if you ask me, but that was his decision to make."

"That's good to know," Beckett replies honestly. This answer does put her at ease, erases a concern that seemed unlike Castle. For all his good-natured griping about his ex-wives, Castle still seems concerned about them. If anything, she thinks, he might be a little too accommodating. _Oh crap_, Beckett realizes,_ we could actually commiserate and compare notes on our exes_. Unbelievable. On the other hand, from what she's heard, maybe Rogan and Meredith would hit it off …

Quirking her lips at this ridiculous thought, Beckett makes her departure after a warm handshake and another round of thanks. Pulling out her phone as she makes her way to the street, she tries to figure out how in the world she's going to navigate dinner with Castle, how she'll extract the details of his research without making it clear that she's done her own digging on him. Taking a deep breath, she dials his number and commits to what will surely be one of her most memorable dinners in a long while.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Here's the second part of yesterday's chapter. More down below.

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_Quirking her lips at this ridiculous thought, Beckett makes her departure after a warm handshake and another round of thanks. Pulling out her phone as she makes her way to the street, she tries to figure out how in the world she's going to navigate dinner with Castle, how she'll extract the details of his research without making it clear that she's done her own digging on him. Taking a deep breath, she dials his number and commits to what will surely be one of her most memorable dinners in a long while._

* * *

"Nice pick, Castle," Beckett says as she looks around the restaurant. He must have taken her requirement seriously, since it looks like the most popular item on the menu is an assurance of discretion.

"Thanks. I don't know a place that's more geared toward privacy than _Vinnie's_," Castle says amiably.

"So, you come here a lot, then?" Beckett asks as she picks up a menu, noticing that Castle hasn't bothered to look.

"Not for years," he sighs as he closes his eyes and breathes deeply of the delicious aromas.

"Hit a dry spell on starlets and groupies?" Beckett pokes. Still a little uncomfortable about having reviewed his will, she sticks to her strategy of maintaining the offensive in this conversation.

"Thanks, Beckett, nice to know your opinion of me remains so high," Castle retorts without his usual bravado. "But no, it's been a long while since my last date and I've never taken anyone here. This restaurant was a favorite of Sal Lupino, a guy I shadowed for a few of my earlier books."

"Lupino – Castle, did you bring me to a mob restaurant?" Beckett squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual.

"'Organized Crime,' Beckett, not 'mob,'" Castle chides, "They have feelings, too, you know. Plus, they know how to eat well."

Grumbling and shaking her head, Beckett returns her attention to the menu. Great – so instead of taking her to a restaurant where a picture might land them on the society page, he's taken her to a place where a picture might jeopardize her job. Wonderful. The pasta better be damned good.

"Rick?" A female voice draws Beckett's attention just in time to hear a squeal. "It _is_ you! Where have you been?" Their waitress is a beauty, a young woman of obvious Italian descent. She looks like she's just been plucked from the hills of Tuscany, young, bright-eyed, and buxom.

"Hi, Sam," Castle says warmly as he stands and offers a hug to waitress, who nearly knocks him over with her exuberance. "I didn't think you'd still be here – what happened to med school?"

"It's your lucky day, mister," Sam says as she pokes his chest. "I'm interning over at St. Mark's, but helping out the old man when I can. It's _so great_ to see you," she says while apparently trying to squeeze the life out of him. "How's Lex?"

"She's well. Perfect, actually. God bless recessive genes," Castle answers happily. "She'll be heading off for college next year, just not sure where, yet."

"You poor thing," Sam says as she cups his cheek. "You're already heartbroken about it, aren't you? Don't worry, she'll come back. We girls never stray far from our daddies, despite how hard we might try initially."

"Is your old man around?" Castle asks, leaning back slowly to encourage Sam to release her hold on his cheek.

"No, it's his day off. He's out in Massapequa," Sam answers. "I try to encourage him to get some rest these days. Once I'm done interning, I'm hoping that I can convince him to semi-retire."

"Oh, Sam," Castle laments, "good luck with that. I don't think he'll ever walk away, but maybe you can convince him to slow down a bit. Let me know if I can help, but to my recollection, you can be pretty persuasive."

"Not persuasive enough," Sam retorts with a raised brow and another poke to Castle's chest, which causes him to flush slightly. Beckett's reaction to his discomfort catches Sam's attention.

"I'm sorry, I've been terribly rude," Sam says. "I'm Samantha Lanza, daughter of the owner."

"Sorry, Sam, this is Kate Beckett, a friend of mine," Castle says. As Beckett shakes Sam's hand, she's thankful that Castle didn't introduce her as a detective.

"Rick here _used_ to be a regular, back before he tried to clean up his act," Sam explains. This summary causes an eye roll from Castle as he sits down again in the booth.

"Hardly," he shoots back, "I just needed to give my arteries a break. After a few years of relief and an anticipatory angioplasty, I'm back and ready for more."

"So, that's how it's going to be, huh?" Sam replies in a tough voice and with a smack to the back of his head that would do Esposito proud. "And what can I get for your delicate system, Old Man Castle? Plain angel hair? White bread? Would you like wine, or do you need to stay with water?"

"Nice bedside manner, Sam," Castle teases. "Do your worst – chef's choice and you pick a bottle of red. Beckett?"

"That sounds lovely," Beckett answers, "chef's choice for me, too, please."

"You've got it," Sam says, pulling out an order pad and exaggerating her effort to write down their orders. Pretending to talk to herself while she writes, she mumbles "Two chef's pick, one adulterated. All set." Castle adds Beckett's menu to his own, then smacks Sam in the arm with both of them.

"Thanks, Sam, I'll be sure to switch plates with Kate before we eat," Castle says.

"Won't work, Castle," Beckett fires back. "You won't be able to eat pasta with a broken wrist."

Sam chuckles as Castle casts a shocked glance at his partner. "That's it, Ms. Beckett, you keep him on his toes," Sam laughs as she walks back to the kitchen to place their order.

"So, Castle," Beckett says while she levels a prim look at her partner, "broken the hearts of any mafia princesses lately?"

"Beckett, let me ask you this," Castle replies seriously after casting a quick glance around the restaurant. "What do you think the odds would be that I'd still be here today if I had messed around with a woman 15 years younger than me whom many established businessmen of Sicilian descent consider to be an adopted daughter?"

Beckett nods at this point while Castle takes a quick drink of water before continuing. "I know you might not believe this, but I _do_ have some shreds of decency, self-preservation, and common sense. Besides, I plan to be around at least long enough to walk Alexis down the aisle and make sure she's safe."

His comment about seeing to Alexis reminds her of the provisions he made in his will, makes her anxious to change the subject. She doesn't want to hare into the topic of tonight's dinner yet, nor does she want to explore Castle's connections to the criminal underground.

"So, what – you brought Alexis around to reinforce your identity as a dad rather than as an eligible bachelor?" Beckett asks.

This time, Castle doesn't bother to hide the look of disappointment on his face. "Seriously, Beckett? You really don't think much of me, do you?" he asks rhetorically. "I talked about Alexis often, but do you really think that I'd have brought my young daughter with me while shadowing people who could give me insight into organized crime?"

Beckett's so out of sorts that she wants to kick herself for that comment. Castle will take an unbelievable amount of crap for just about anything, except Alexis. She's about to apologize when their food arrives far earlier than expected courtesy of a short, aproned tornado.

"You get over here right now," their server demands of Castle after placing their meal on the table. Looking chagrined, Castle stands and wraps the older woman in an engulfing hug.

"Hello, Maria," he says sweetly. "It's good to see you again."

"Oh, look at you," Maria exclaims while pretending that her flailing arms can't make it all the way around him. "I should've brought you a half portion! You'll have to share some with your skinny beauty here," she exclaims with hands on hips. Only Castle, Beckett thinks, could know so many women who want to baby him. She's starting to think that most of the "guys" he knows are actually women.

"Maria, this is Kate. Kate, Maria is the reason this restaurant is still here. She's the best cook in the borough, maybe the state," Castle says as Maria blushes and turns to face Beckett.

"Nice to meet you, Maria," Beckett says, extending her hand. Maria ignores the hand and wraps Beckett in a hug instead. Normally not a big fan of hugs, especially from strangers, there's something about Maria's hug that is warm and welcoming. She smells of flour and tomato, not surprisingly, but it's a smell that reminds Beckett of the idea of home.

"He's a charmer, that one," Maria says to Beckett while inclining her head at Castle. "Watch him carefully," she needlessly advises. Laughing, Beckett agrees to keep a wary eye on Castle as she sits down again.

"Maria, what did you make for us?" Castle asks, rubbing his hands together and eyeing the bowls and platters on the table. While it seems a little odd to have a family-style meal with only two of them, there's at least enough food to feed six people, so maybe it makes sense.

"Never you mind. I got creative," Maria sasses back. "You just let me know how it tastes and maybe I'll add it to the menu." Then, with a laugh, she's off back to the kitchen, adroitly stepping around Sam.

Delivering and pouring their wine, Sam chimes in. "Sorry about that, Rick, but she pulled rank when I told her you were here. She wouldn't think of letting anyone else deliver your order. I hope you're hungry, because she'll be crushed if you don't make a good dent in that." With a laugh at his daunted look, Sam drifts off to attend to other tables.

"Well, Detective, you heard the lady – dig in. You've got to do your share or Maria won't let us leave," Castle jokes, but Beckett's wise to him.

"I'm sorry, Castle," Beckett says, refusing to be deflected by his humor and easy manner. "My comment before the food arrived was out of line. I know very well how careful you are with Alexis and I shouldn't have said anything to suggest otherwise."

Serving himself some portions of their meal, Castle is initially quiet. After a moment, he looks up. "Thanks, Beckett. I'm going to get in enough trouble tonight without taking shots for things I didn't do wrong."

"Taking the bull by the horns?" Beckett asks as she ladles a few bites worth from each dish onto her plate. "We're just going to get right into it, then?"

"Fire away, Detective," Castle says bravely. The mood shifts when his look of openness transforms into one of indecent delight after he takes a bite of Maria's creation.

Beckett decides to sample the fare herself before starting the interrogation, and she joins Castle in moaning. My God, she thinks, this is the most unbelievable food she's tasted in years. The only thing that compares is her first bowl of spaghetti after recovering from her shooting, after all tomato sauce had been forbidden for three straight months. That first bite was bliss, but this one is better.

The partners reach an unspoken agreement to attend to their meal lest they ruin the food with serious talk, so their table is quiet aside from comments about the food, recommendations to try certain combinations, and moans of satisfaction.

Castle actually winds down before Beckett, a clear sign that he's either nervous about the upcoming discussion or still upset about her comment involving Alexis. Taking the opportunity to savor her last few bites, Beckett prepares her questions. But, the more she thinks about it, the more pointless an interrogation seems. He's a writer and she knows him well. There's a better way to get the information she wants.

"Tell me the story, Castle," she says at last, catching him off guard. At his look of confusion, she clarifies her request. "Tell me the story of how you found out about my situation."

Surprised at this relatively gentle approach, Castle takes a few minutes to collect his thoughts.

"Alexis turns eighteen soon," is how he starts his explanation. While this seems irrelevant, Beckett remains quiet to see where the story takes her. "When she does, some of the terms of my divorce agreement with Meredith terminate. I was getting ready for a meeting with my accountant when I was reviewing the paperwork. Just to make sure everything was in order, I went to the county clerk's office to make sure my marriage and divorce papers were on file and ready."

Pausing to take a drink of wine, Castle swirls the ruby liquid in the balloon glass and appears to be slightly hypnotized by it.

"Have you ever studied experimental economics?" Castle asks Beckett. She thinks she's used to the way Castle's mind works, but sometimes the disparate facts that he collects like a magpie still throw her, especially when they motivate conversational tangents.

"Um, no," Beckett replies. "Not much call for that in law enforcement, Castle."

"You might be surprised," Castle ponders, still watching his swirling wine. "Criminality is often just a response to incentives, which is what microeconomics tries to explain."

He pauses again and Beckett wonders if he's awaiting a response when he starts again. "There are a number of conundrums that cause economists trouble because the theory doesn't predict the observed behavior. Lotteries, for example, cause a lot of apparently irrational behavior. There's a puzzle there that's always seemed fascinating to me because the answer seems obvious." Looking up and catching Beckett off guard while awaiting a response, Castle asks "What happens when the jackpot for the lottery gets really big?"

"They talk about it on the news," Beckett guesses slowly, "and more people buy tickets?"

"That's right," Castle says, "which confuses some economists. When the jackpot is larger, more people buy tickets. Why? The more people play, the lower the odds of winning and the higher the chance of a split pot. If the expected reward is going down, why are more people interested in playing?"

He's staring at her, again waiting for an answer. She should be growing impatient with Castle – he's supposed to be explaining yet another field trip into her personal history, not pontificating on economic theory. But, knowing Castle, they'll get there.

"Because… because they aren't just buying a ticket to win," she thinks aloud. "They're buying a ticket so that they can dream about winning."

Castle's smile lights up his face as he looks at her and nods.

"There was a mix-up at the county clerk's office. The secretary had to step out to try to locate the physical copies of my divorce decrees. While she was out, I couldn't help myself. The terminal was right there, she was out, so I just… snooped."

Beckett's having trouble following the different threads of this conversation, jumping from the lottery to Castle's divorce paperwork.

"Let me make sure I'm getting this," she says. "You went to the clerk's office, she stepped out, and you – what? You decided to see if I was in the system, too?"

With a sigh, Castle nods. But when he doesn't say anything, Beckett's forced to ask for an explanation. She simply looks at him and says "Why?"

"Because even if I can't win the lottery, I wanted to dream about winning," he answers quietly.

His answer suddenly fuses the two strands of their conversation together, confusing her for a moment. So, Castle was at the clerk's office, making sure that his marriage and divorce records were in order. He peeked into Beckett's file because he wanted to 'dream about winning'…

"So, you wanted to dream about being married to me?" Beckett asks, dumbfounded.

With an embarrassed shrug, Castle fiddles with his napkin before whispering "Yes."

"What the hell, Castle?" Beckett erupts. "That's… absurd. It's ridiculous. It's creepy!"

"How is imagining a committed relationship creepy?" Castle retorts, looking offended.

"How is it not?" Beckett answers incredulously. "You said that your motives were pure. How in the hell is this a pure motive?"

"Are you serious?" Castle fires back immediately. "Are you offended or are you frightened?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Beckett challenges, threatened by the potential accuracy of his remark.

"By any objective measure of beauty, Kate, you are _gorgeous_," Castle answers hotly. "You see it every day – the heads that turn, the lingering looks, hell – even half the guys you interrogate hit on you. What do you think they're imagining? Where do you think their minds go? The same damn place mine went the first day I met you."

"Not helping, Castle," Beckett growls.

Castle's worked up, frustrated that his point doesn't seem to be getting through. "Kate, I wanted to imagine having a life together – holidays, companionship, having a true partner in all aspects of life, not just at the precinct," he says, running his hands through his hair again. "Not as a sexual object or a… a temporary, disposable pleasure."

"And that's not what your wives were to you?" Beckett fires back, before her brain processes her words and she brings a hand to her mouth in horror.

Castle's frozen in shock, sitting silently, his wide eyes glassy and aimed at his clasped hands in his lap. Somehow, Beckett chastises herself, she's confused _taking the offensive _in this conversation with _being offensive._ First, she takes a shot at his care of Alexis, and now she drags his ex-wives and failed marriages into it. He may be in the wrong, but her behavior today has hardly left her any high ground on which to stand.

"I think I should go," Castle says quietly with as much dignity as he can muster. After folding his napkin and placing it on the table, he slides out of the booth. Beckett stands quickly and reaches across the table, grabbing his wrist and holding tight.

"Castle – Rick, please don't go," she says quietly. "That's my second strike. Again, it's something I shouldn't have said, something I know isn't true. I'm just – embarrassed and uncomfortable and a little scared about all the things that have happened this week. I'm lashing out as a response. I'll stop, I swear. Please stay."

Castle looks longingly at the door for several minutes before his shoulders sag slightly and he returns to sitting in the center of his booth seat. He looks wary, Beckett thinks. Wary and brittle and ten years older than when they arrived. She releases her hold on his wrist and he clasps his hands together in his lap, leaning forward slightly. It's a textbook defensive posture for which Beckett hates herself a little.

"So, you typed in my name and the clerk's computer told you that I was married," Beckett prompts quietly, hoping that getting him back into the story will put him more at ease. Instead, he merely nods.

"You were surprised. You remembered our talks about marriage, about my desire to get it right the first time." Beckett continues to hypothesize, and Castle nods again.

"You wanted to panic, but your experience taught you better. You looked for corroborating evidence before you did anything?" Beckett asks, and this time Castle is nodding before she even finishes talking.

"And when that evidence arrived, you knew that you had to tell me. Knew that I wasn't aware of the marriage. You knew that I'd push you to tell me how you found out," Beckett says, her voice lowering as she approaches her last point. "And you knew how I'd react," she finishes quietly, looking down.

"Yes," Castle replies in his own whisper.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in thought. While she's still angry with him for digging into her personal life, she tries to imagine things from his perspective. No wonder he was acting so strangely at the precinct on Wednesday, knowing he had to tell her about her marital status, while at the same time knowing she'd be furious with him for snooping and even angrier at the reason for his snooping.

Except that he didn't have to tell her. She would have been disappointed if he hadn't, crushed even, but the easy way out for him would have been to remain silent. How many of the men she's known would have done the same thing in his position? Certainly not her _husband_. And what if the tables had been turned, somehow – what would she do if she found out important information about Castle that would embarrass her to confess? Actually, she doesn't need to imagine this scenario – she's been living it every day since she decided to lie about his graveside confession.

"Why?" she asks again, surprising herself and Castle. "You knew how I'd react, so why did you tell me?"

"I…," Castle starts, but then takes a moment to swallow some water and collect his thoughts. "You're my friend. My best friend. You needed to know, so you can be where you want to be when you meet your next Josh, without embarrassment or delay," he says quietly, still focused on the clasped hands in his lap.

Oh, Castle, she thinks. No need to question his earlier assertion that he 'couldn't win the lottery.' Despite their talk on the swings, Castle's apparently convinced himself she's out of his reach. It's all laughable – comparing her to a lottery, with her baggage, and thinking that she didn't love him. But whose fault is that – has she given him any reason to hope? Maybe when the dust settles from this skirmish, they can have a serious talk about exploring new dimensions to their relationship.

"Thank you, Castle," she says as she reaches across the table, coaxing a hand from his lap to hold hers instead. "It's mortifying, but I'm glad to have the opportunity to deal with it now. I can't imagine what would happen if I only found out when applying for a marriage license, can't imagine a fiancé who would put up with that."

"No thanks necessary, Beckett," Castle replies as he pulls his hand back and tries to get his tone back to normal. "You're important to me, so I try to take care of you. When I can get away with it," he says with a smirk.

"Which isn't often," Beckett nods in reply, wearing her own smile in appreciation of Castle's efforts to pull them out of the gloom.

"I manage it when it's important," Castle replies smugly. "Did you have any questions?"

"What, was there more in my file at the clerk's office?" Beckett asks, suddenly alarmed.

"No, not about your file," Castle chuckles. "About my will."

"I… uh…," Beckett replies eloquently, prompting a laugh from Castle.

"He's my attorney, Beckett. His job is to protect me and he does it very well. Did you think he wouldn't touch base about your request?" Castle asks lightly.

"I'm sorry, Castle, but I couldn't help myself," Beckett confesses.

"Sounds familiar," Castle admits. "It's not a problem, Beckett, and not something I have a right to complain about," Castle assures her. "If I was concerned about you reading it, I would have sealed the envelope," he says with a raised eyebrow, knowingly referring to the other envelope in her file. "So, seriously, did you have any questions?"

"Not really," Beckett answers. "It's just a bit shocking. I mean, we know you're wealthy, but the total value was a bit of a jolt. You hide it well."

Chuckling, Castle just gives a quick nod. "Things have gone well and I've been fortunate. It's important to me to make sure that the people in my life will be okay once I'm gone. Just the same, though, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention the details to anyone. I don't want to take any crap from the boys about the total or about why they're not getting Ferraris."

"Of course," Beckett promises. It's an easy vow to make since she had no intention of sharing the details with anyone, not even Lanie. "But Alexis and Martha know about this, right?"

"So you didn't have time to read the whole thing," Castle surmises. "The signature page includes all three of us. They were there when we worked out the details, back after you moved out."

"Moved out?" Beckett asks, confused.

"After you found your new place and left the loft," Castle clarifies. "The whole 'homicidal bomber' fiasco seemed like a good prompt to make sure my affairs were in order," he finishes with a laugh.

"That was two years ago," Beckett murmurs, surprised by the vintage of Castle's document.

"Yeah," Castle agrees. "My accountant updates the financial stuff every year, but the disposition section stays the same. I adjust the anonymous donations section sometimes, but that's not a big deal."

"Castle, you hardly knew me two years ago," Beckett objects. Suddenly the amount that seemed so overwhelming in Fitz's office is even worse now, knowing that he made these provisions for her years ago.

"You're kidding, right? I knew you well enough to invite you into my home, to spend time with my family," Castle says seriously. "That's not something I'd do for many people, Beckett. I'm rich and I know most of the big hoteliers in the city – if just about anyone else was in your situation, I would have put them up in a nice hotel suite until they were back on their feet. I'm pretty protective of my family."

"That's… sweet," Beckett replies slowly.

"Why is this freaking you out, Beckett? I told you that you're my best friend. That's not new. If it's a problem, I'll let you know next time I make any changes to the document. In fact, now that you're in the loop, it might make sense to have you sign the next iteration, too."

"It's just... two year ago, Castle! That seems like ages ago. We were so young, so different around each other. You didn't know me then, you didn't love me then…," Oh, damn. She trails off suddenly, unable to believe that her discomfort forced her to let that comment slip out.

"Love you? Pretty confident in yourself, aren't you?" Castle asks with a roguish smile. Beckett's getting ready to bluff her way out of this predicament when she sees the smile slide off Castle's face.

"It's not confidence, though, is it, Beckett?" he asks in a much less jocular tone as he looks at her, waiting for a response.

"It's recollection, isn't it?" he continues when she remains silent.

Now she's the one assuming a defensive posture, staring at the hands clasped in her lap. She really should say something, try to explain herself. But every word for which she grasps slips away from her, taunting and elusive. Given how badly she's misspoken already tonight, she's worried that any words she does capture will be the wrong ones.

"I'm… going to leave before I say something I regret," Castle says carefully as he slides to the end of the booth. He's still perched on the edge of the seat when he takes a deep breath. Though she still has her head tilted down and face hidden behind a wall of wavy hair, Beckett raises her eyes enough to see Castle's white-knuckled grip of the tabletop. He's struggling, she realizes, torn between storming out and speaking his mind. She's not sure which option would hurt more.

As he takes another calming breath, Beckett realizes that he's chosen to speak his mind and prepares herself for his assault. She already knows what she'll hear – recriminations about hiding during her recovery, the betrayal of lying to a friend, the hypocrisy of digging into personal details and whether to confess… He's got so much to work with, Beckett thinks with an edge of hysteria, that she's almost curious to see what a great author can do with such a wealth of content.

Though he's still holding onto the table for dear life, the tone of his voice when he finally speaks is calm, almost intimate. "This isn't how I wanted things to go tonight, Kate. I didn't want tonight to ever happen, but I at least wanted our last hurrah to provide some cherished memories for the times ahead."

At this strange pronouncement, Beckett finally looks up and locks eyes with her partner. This isn't anywhere near the discussion she expected – it's already so much worse.

"Thank you, Kate," Castle says earnestly. "I know that you won't believe it, will rage against me for the presumption, but you've made me a better man – a better partner, a better father, and a better soul. These last few years have been the best of my life and I'll hold them with honor in my heart."

Too shocked to respond, Beckett can only stare at him as he prizes his fingers from the table top and prepares to stand. His motion finally breaking the spell, Beckett gasps out the only thing she can think of, her most raw reaction to what she's just heard. "No, Rick, no. You can't leave me." The more she speaks, the more fluid her words, and the more angry she feels. "You don't get to leave me. You told me 'always.' I've put up with too much from you, invested too much in you, for you to walk away."

Giving her the saddest smile she can recall seeing, Castle looks at her with pity and regret. "Kate, I'm not ending our partnership." In response to her look of confusion, he says "You are."

"What are you talking about?" Beckett whispers, feeling beaten by the harrowing twists and turns of their conversation.

"I know you, Kate. I've seen you through the lenses of a hundred different emotions. I've seen you stripped bare by our near-death experiences. I know you better than anyone else, better in some ways than your father or Lanie. I knew how you'd react to learning about Rogan. I knew how you'd react to learning about how I discovered him. And I know how you'll react to what's on that USB drive."

Castle lapses back to silence, leaving he and Beckett to simply stare, each trying to find the answer to some unknown question in the eyes of the other. Here, teetering on the brink of something terrifying, Beckett wonders if the truths she's uncovered tonight can possibly justify the pain that looks sure to follow.

"What if…," she begins, digging into her pocket and placing the USB drive on table in front of her. She should have known that Fitz would notice the switch. "What if I just gave this back?" Looking at the meager device, she nudges it carefully into the center of the table.

"No, Kate," Castle says softly, making no move to collect the drive. "You need to see what's on there. I thought about asking you to give it back, but maybe now is the right time for you to see it after all. It means the world to me that you offered to return it, but that was always meant for you. It isn't part of my will – I always hoped and feared that I'd still be around when you looked at it, but it was in your file as insurance in case I wasn't."

Eyeing the drive as if it's a time bomb ready to explode, Beckett's surprised to see Castle pick it up from the tabletop. He reaches out to her, holding his hand out for her until she finally places her palm beneath it to receive the drive back from him. He doesn't drop it into her palm, though – he places it there gently, then covers it with his own hand. Maybe it's poetic, Beckett thinks, that the only thing keeping them apart is the drive and whatever it contains.

Castle finally withdraws his hand, but not before using it to curl Beckett's fingers around the drive. Then, with a sigh, he stands.

"I do love you, Kate. I'm going to say it proudly now in a way that can't be ignored or dismissed. I love you," he says with a shy, crooked smile. "I hope you make the right choice," he concludes with a nod and a look at her hand. Then, he turns and walks toward the kitchen, probably to settle their bill and say goodbye to Sam and Maria.

Watching until he's lost to sight, she squeezes the cursed drive in her hand until she can feel it pressing uncomfortably into her skin, until it starts to cause her pain. However much this hurts, it doesn't compare to the pain of watching him walk away or the realization that he didn't say goodbye.

* * *

A/N2: I'm not going to leave things hanging here, but I'm going to have to put the pen down for a while to focus on some work and life issues in the short term. I'll get back to this asap.

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	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Down below.

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_Watching until he's lost to sight, she squeezes the cursed drive in her hand until she can feel it pressing uncomfortably into her skin, until it starts to cause her pain. However much this hurts, it doesn't compare to the pain of watching him walk away or the realization that he didn't say goodbye._

* * *

"Come in, Detective," Captain Gates says while still shrugging out of her jacket, having just arrived at the precinct. "You must have gotten an early start. You're feeling better today?"

"A bit, thank you," Beckett answers, aware that taking a sick day yesterday raised eyebrows throughout the bullpen. Her request today is going to blow that one away.

"I'm actually here to request some additional time off," Beckett says as Gates bustles about her office, unpacking her bag and perusing the contents of the inbox on her desk. "I wanted to get current on my paperwork before asking," she says as she hands Gates a folder.

"Is everything okay?" Gates asks, and Beckett appreciates that she sounds truly concerned, not just parroting the expected response.

"I'm going to see my doctor later this morning," Beckett begins, feeling no guilt since Burke really is a doctor, even if he's not a physician. "Then I need to meet with my attorney tomorrow."

"I hope these visits are unrelated," Gates says with concern, and Beckett realizes her mistake of mixing the two topics.

"Yes, sir," Beckett says lightly. "Some… legal issues in my family history recently came to light. They predate my academy days, but now that they've surfaced, I've got to tend to them promptly. I'll probably redo my will while I'm there, but just because it'll save me a trip, not because of my doctor's appointment."

"How much time do you need?" Gates asks, happy that her detective isn't facing a mortally serious medical issue. "Today and tomorrow?"

"Actually, sir, I'd like to take all four remaining days this week. I need today and tomorrow, but maybe Thursday and Friday won't be necessary – depends on what the attorney says," Beckett grimaces.

Looking at Beckett contemplatively, it takes Gates a few moments to reply. "How about this – today and tomorrow are fine, but call me Wednesday night or Thursday morning and we'll see about the rest of the week. I'm not sure about the staffing situation for Karpowski's team right now and we'll need to see how heavy this week's workload turns out to be."

Happy with this, Beckett is nodding and about to speak when Gates cuts in. "And, Detective, I need an assurance from you. Remember that I came from IA – these legal issues that have arisen aren't going to embarrass the precinct or compromise you, are they?"

"No, sir, I don't believe so," Beckett answers, though this has been a concern. If Rogan has gotten into anything shady and drawn her in, there could be serious implications for her. "But that's one of the reasons that I want to get things resolved quickly."

Pleased with Beckett's response, Gates gives a firm nod. "Good. You should make Mr. Castle help you out. Lord knows he's got a good legal team and it'd be nice to have them work on something other than inflicting him upon my precinct or tending to some tawdry divorce."

"Yes, sir," Beckett manages to grate out while hiding her bone-deep humiliation.

"Oh, and make sure he doesn't show up while you're away," Gates says as she concludes their interview.

"That's not going to be a problem," Beckett mutters, mostly to herself.

Making her way to her desk to shut down her computer and collect her things, she curses her luck as the elevator disgorges Ryan and Esposito, already having at each other at Natter-con level 4. One of the reasons for her early start was to make sure she was gone before the boys showed up.

"Hey, Beckett," Esposito greets her as he hangs his jacket on the back of his chair. "You leavin'? We got a call already?" Ryan, awaiting her answer, stops with his jacket half-way off.

"No call, guys, I'm just heading out," she says lightly. "I just cleared it with Gates. I've got to see my doctor today and deal with some family stuff tomorrow. If things are heavy I'll be back on Thursday, otherwise next week."

Noticing that both sets of eyebrows steadily climbed during her explanation, she hustles her efforts to depart before the questions start flying. Damn Microsoft and its interminable shutdown process.

"Hey, now we'll get the coffee that Castle brings in!" Ryan says happily.

"Maybe we'll let him use your desk while you're gone," Esposito smirks, trying to further provoke her.

"He's not coming in," Beckett growls as her computer finally shuts down and she grabs her things.

"When's he coming back?" Ryan asks, wary now that he's picked up on her mood.

"I'm not sure he is," she says quickly as she walks out and doesn't look back.

* * *

"Good morning, Kate," Dr. Burke welcomes Beckett to his office and motions to the chair across from him. "I understand you were anxious to talk. How are you?"

"Married," Beckett replies glumly.

"Congratulations?" Burke replies hesitantly, noticeably thrown by both her status and her less-than-excited delivery of the news.

Shaking her head, Beckett answers, trying to move the session along. "I don't think I should be congratulated for getting drunk and participating in a lark in Vegas when I was nineteen. What I thought was a joke turned out to be a legally binding marriage that's still on the books."

"I…," Burke starts, then stops. "That is, are you…," he tries again, failing a second time. Beckett's grim chuckle catches his attention and he decides to just ask the blunt question that he can't pose artfully. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Beckett confesses. Every time she thinks she's over the shame of her past behavior, something like this comes up and renews her humiliation.

"You poor woman," Burke exclaims, breaking his traditional cool demeanor to sympathize. "How do these things keep happening to you?"

Assuming his question is rhetorical, Beckett decides that she might as well get it all on the table now. "And do you know what? Finding out about my _husband_ wasn't even the worst thing that happened this week."

Shooting her an incredulous look, Burke takes a deep breath. "Okay, Kate, how about this – tell me what's happened and then we'll figure out where to go from there."

"Let's see," Beckett replies as she sticks out her hand to tick off the points on her fingers. "Castle tells me that he violated my trust, again, by digging into my personal life," she says as she sticks out her thumb.

"He gives me a file that shows I've been married since I was nineteen," she extends her index finger.

"I freak out, get over my initial anger, go to Castle's place for help, freak out again, and call myself a teenage bride and adulteress, not knowing that the mayor of New York City was right behind Castle's door." This admission gets just a vigorous middle finger salute before the thumb and index finger return to the count.

"Castle sets me up with his attorney, whose trust I abuse to see my file in Castle's legal portfolio. I read Castle's will, which leaves me an ungodly amount of money and was written _two years ago_." Ring finger extends.

"The lawyer comes in, tells me that my _husband_ has known about the marriage the whole time, that my taxes and credit are probably screwed, and that he's concocted a story about his _comatose wife_ to score charity money and sympathetic women." Pinky finger.

Looking shocked, Burke tries to calm things down. "Well, it sounds like we have a lot to discuss…"

"I'm not done yet!" Beckett exclaims, her manic look and slightly hysterical tone prompting him to lean back in his chair. With a wild gleam in her eye, Beckett extends her other hand.

"Castle takes me out to dinner to apologize for snooping. He's lavished with female attention at the restaurant because, hey, when isn't he? So, anyway, he confesses to fantasizing about marrying me and I accuse him of mistreating his daughter and using his ex-wives as disposable sex objects." Another thumb extends. Meanwhile, Burke is starting to look nervous as Beckett's recitation gets increasingly frenetic.

"You remember my lie that we've talked about, where I pretend every damned day that I don't recall Castle telling me he loves me? Yep, I blurted that out," she declares as she extends her other index finger.

"Instead of storming out, which I totally deserved, Castle tells me he knows I took a USB drive from his legal file, which I did, but I didn't expect anyone to notice right away," Beckett rambles. "He thanks me for all the great things that have happened while he's shadowed me, then explains that I'll kick him out as soon as I look at the drive. But he wouldn't take the damned thing back." Another middle finger goes up, and Burke is somewhat heartened that she doesn't wave it around or make rude gestures with it.

"He tells me again that he loves me, says he hopes that I make the right choice, then leaves me in a god-damned mafia restaurant surrounded by leftover pasta and women who want to kill me for making him leave." Another ring finger goes up.

"And _then_," Beckett howls, looking almost deranged, so wrapped up in her story that she doesn't notice Burke's efforts to push himself further back in his chair, "and _then_, I go home, look at the drive, and find out that that miserable bastard cut a deal for my life, that he agreed to keep me off my mom's case while he's been looking into it himself!"

Collapsing into her chair and panting slightly, Beckett feels a little better just for having had the opportunity to vent. As she starts to come back to herself, she looks up and can't help but laugh – her normally cool and collected therapist looks befuddled, bewildered, and more than a little concerned. He's pushed himself as far into his chair as he can go, and his fingers are clenched so tightly on the arms of his chair that she's sure he'll leave permanent indentations in the leather.

"So, no, not my best week," she says lightly, then chuckles.

Her laughter seems to rouse Burke, who shakes his head and slowly stands up. After walking behind his desk to retrieve two refrigerated water bottles for them, he excuses himself briefly to step out of the office and chat with his receptionist.

"I've just asked Rhonda to bump my next appointment back, in case we need more time," Burke explains with a quirked brow. "Where would you like to start? Is there something that leaps out to you, or should we follow the list you laid out?"

"It all bothers me, so I guess we start at the beginning," Beckett sighs.

"Okay, your marital status," Burke agrees. "Is there anything about the marriage itself that you'd like to discuss, or is your discomfort more about having learned this from Mr. Castle?"

"Hmmm," Beckett replies, prompting a questioning look from Burke. "I don't need to talk about the marriage itself, but your question surprised me. You mentioned Castle specifically, like I'd feel different if someone else made me aware of this."

"Would you have felt differently?" Burke asks.

"I don't – yeah, I think I would," Beckett corrects herself. "I mean, it's embarrassing to begin with, but learning about it through Castle was even worse."

"And why do you suppose that's the case?" Burke follows up.

"I don't know," Beckett replies to buy herself time to think. It doesn't work, though, as Burke just stares at her while awaiting a response. "Maybe because he has feelings for me, so it's uncomfortable talking about marriage when we've been navigating around a romantic tension between us."

"Do you really think that's it?" Burke asks, breaking from his usual blank look to suggest that he's not buying Beckett's answer.

"Why not?" she replies, a little offended at being pushed.

"Kate, your chronology from a few minutes ago included Mr. Castle's dreams and declarations _after_ he made you aware of your marital status," Burke sandbags.

"That doesn't matter," Beckett dismisses, "I've known about his feelings for a while now."

"Might that be a reason that it feels differently – that this development forced you to face the affection that you've known about?" Burke asks pointedly.

"I… yeah," Beckett thinks out loud. "Yeah, that probably had something to do with it," she agrees. "It's just – Castle and I need to do this at the right time. For once, I'd like us to do something not in reaction an outside disaster."

"And not when the balance of your relationship has suddenly changed?" Burke asks shrewdly, prompting a puzzled look from Beckett.

"Nothing's changed because of this," she replies. "I mean, come on – with _two _divorces under his belt, Castle can hardly give me any trouble about this."

"But isn't that the point, Kate?" Burke tries to explain. "If we asked all your acquaintances to guess which of the two of you went to Las Vegas, got drunk, and got married, do you think any of them would guess it was you?" Beckett's already shaking her head, since she can't imagine anyone predicting this of her rather than Castle.

"Right – this is Mr. Castle's behavior, or more particularly, this is the kind of behavior that one would expect based on his reputation. And yet it was you, not him, who did this. You don't think that this similarity, this evidence that you've both had some wild days in your past, levels the playing field a bit?"

Beckett's bothered by Burke's insight because she can't deny it. There was a certain comfort in knowing that as unbalanced as he could make her feel, Castle wasn't immune, that there's evidence of having made mistakes of his own. It's a petty feeling, admittedly, so recognizing she's not so different hurts even more acutely.

"It probably does," Beckett sighs as she rubs her forehead, already feeling a headache starting to bloom.

"Let me ask you this," Burke follows up, uncharacteristically driving his point home. "Have you felt like yourself this past week? In ordinary situations, I mean, perhaps at the precinct or even just relaxing at home?"

"No," Beckett admits readily, "not at all."

"Your self-perception has taken a knock, and maybe your pride, too," Burke says sympathetically. "When events like this happen, they shake our sense of self and it can take some time for a new image to reform. You'll get there. The embarrassment will fade, you'll assimilate this information, and you'll emerge with a bit better understanding of yourself."

"Yeah," she chuffs out, "maybe then I'll know myself as well as Castle seems to know me."

After encouraging her to take a sip of water, Burke asks her to explain.

"It's frustrating," she admits at the start. "For everything that happened this week, Castle showed an uncanny ability to predict my reactions. He knew I'd want to be alone when I learned about my marriage. He knew I'd be furious about the fact that he found out, and what he was doing that led to his discovery."

"Let's stop there," Burke interrupts. "Let's handle this in small pieces. How did Mr. Castle come across this information?"

"He was dealing with some bureaucracy relating to his divorce with his first wife. When the clerk stepped out, he decided to see if I was in the system," she explains.

"And how did he explain this violation of trust and privacy laws?" Burke asks with some asperity.

"Sweetly, actually," Beckett says fondly, "not that I said that to him when I tore him a new one," she says with a small smile as Burke joins in. "He used the lottery as an example, mentioned that some people play just so they can dream about winning. That's what he wanted – clearance, I guess, to dream about being married to me." Saying it out loud makes her feel shy about Castle's analogy, so she ducks her head.

"And that scared you, didn't it?" Burke prompts carefully. Beckett raises her head and looks at him, but doesn't answer.

"Here's Rick Castle, infamous playboy, further disproving his reputation. It would have been easier if he confessed to wanting a fling with you, wouldn't it," Burke asks quietly, "rather than his hopes to build a meaningful relationship?"

"I was terrified," Beckett confesses in a low voice with a flush rising on her cheeks. "This… thing between us just builds and builds. I haven't said anything about it, haven't really let him know how I feel, but it's like he knows. I'm still trying to figure out if we can be together, if I can be in a relationship without screwing it up, and he's already daydreaming about our success. It's so much pressure," she ends quietly.

"Do you think that maybe he wanted you to know, that maybe this was his way of signaling that he doesn't think about you as a conquest?" Burke asks after Beckett looks up at him.

"No," Beckett says with certainty. "It sounds like something he'd do, but not now, not yet. He knew I'd be upset about this. The only reason he told me was because he found out about my marriage. If he hadn't found anything about me at the clerk's office, I'm sure I'd have no idea about his daydreams."

"So, despite knowing how you'd react, he brought this information to you," Burke summarizes. "And that makes you feel guilty?" he guesses.

"Yes, it does," Beckett agrees. "He knew I'd let him have it, and I sure did, right there in the restaurant," she says with an embarrassed huff. "He knew it would make me uncomfortable and scared, and that I'd… react aggressively." At this, Beckett pauses and takes another sip of water. "I said terrible things," she confesses. "I was so far out of line that Castle – Castle of all people! – was going to walk out."

"This must be the comment about his daughter and ex-wives?" Burke asks.

"Not his daughter – that was a stupid comment I made just after we arrived, but I apologized for that quickly. No, this was about his ex-wives, and it was so much worse," Beckett says as she gulps more water. "He replied almost the same way you did – pressing me on why I thought it was creepy for him to dream about us being in a committed relationship rather than think of me as a disposable pleasure."

"Oh, Kate," Burke exclaims, seeing where the narrative is heading.

"Oh, yes. I asked him how his wives were anything but disposable pleasures," she hangs her head.

"Is this something we should talk about?" Burke asks with genuine concern. "Is that really how you feel or what you fear? Or was your reaction just to…"

"To strike out, to push back, to go on the offensive because I was uncomfortable?" Beckett finishes for him. "Guilty, your honor."

Silence reigns for a few moments while each of them ruminates on the last few minutes. "But, he didn't leave?" Burke asks to get them back on track.

"I apologized as soon as I could speak," she explains, "and I asked him, maybe even begged him, to stay. Plus, I grabbed him and held on tight," she finishes with an embarrassed shrug.

"Now I'm confused," Burke confesses. "Because when you described your week, the next thing in your narrative was him confessing his feelings for you again, but I don't see how that follows."

"We had a winding conversation, he didn't just jump into it," she explains, grateful for the chance to just report what happened rather than answer more emotional questions. "We talked about how he learned about my situation and why he brought it to my attention. And, again, he was sweet. He basically said that even though he couldn't have me, he wanted to make sure that I was ready to be with someone without my marriage hanging over me."

"Let's table that for now," Burke says to Beckett's obvious surprise. "It feels like we're building to something, so let's see where this goes."

"He surprised me. We went from talking about my marriage to talking about his will. He'd set me up with his attorney to resolve my situation, and while the attorney was making some calls I snooped in my file," she says. Then, noticing Burke's look, she jumps back in. "And, yes, I know that I was doing the same thing that he did. That's how I rationalized it to myself."

Burke merely nods, prompting her to continue.

"So, Castle knew I read the will and asked if I had any questions. It turns out he made the will two years ago, before I was with Josh, before my shooting, before all of that. And it rattled me. When he asked why I was reacting that way, I just lost it. I couldn't believe that he did this so long ago, before we were comfortable with each other, before he loved me."

"Ah, the unintentional confession," Burke notes.

"He didn't realize that it was a confession at first," she describes miserably. "The look on his face when he realized… I hate myself for doing that to someone. Especially someone I care for. Especially him."

"And then he left?" Burke asks.

"Almost," Beckett replies quietly. "He tried to leave and I could see he was torn between storming out and railing at me. He stayed, but instead of going after me he thanked me for our time together. I thought he was leaving the precinct and I got very possessive and told him he couldn't. That's when he told me that I was the one who was leaving, that I'd end our partnership once I saw what was on the USB drive."

"The one you took from his legal file?" Burke asks, recalling her opening tirade.

"Yes," Beckett answers, starting to get agitated again. "And you know what? Castle's got me tied in knots over the damned thing. Because he was right, again – if I'd have seen what was on the drive, I would have kicked his ass off the team. But now, because that's what he'd predicted I'd do, I'm not sure that I should."

"Why not?" Burke asks. "Is this a reaction to the discomfort that comes from his ability to predict your behavior?"

"Probably," Beckett huffs. "That's probably part of it, even though I know that's childish. So is wanting to prove him wrong. But," Beckett says, with her tone dropping some of its aggressiveness, "I also can't ignore that he was right. He knew I'd want to kick him out and he did it anyway."

"Well," Dr. Burke begins after a short pause, "are you comfortable talking about what was on the drive?"

Beckett pauses for a moment. She's already decided she'd talk to Burke about this, but she wants to pause to collect her thoughts before crossing this bridge. Burke seems to understand that she's preparing herself and waits patiently.

"After I was shot, a man called Mr. Smith contacted Castle. He explained that he was in possession of information that would compromise the person behind my mother's murder and everything that followed." Beckett pauses to take another drink of water, thankful for the excuse to collect herself again. "He explained a deal: the information would stay private, and I'd stay safe, as long as I didn't investigate the case."

"I take it Mr. Castle accepted this deal?" Burke asks carefully.

"Yes," Beckett whispers. "I never knew. He kept me off the case, knowing full well that he was interfering in my business, betraying my trust. I could almost hate him for that alone."

"For that alone? What does that mean – what else did he do?" Burke asks in confusion.

"He risked his goddamned life, that's what!" Beckett snaps. "He knew I'd feel betrayed when I found out, so he investigated in my place. He risked his life, the safety of his family, to find answers for me. He could have died! It was stupid and dangerous and impulsive and so goddamned, tragically noble that I could just wring his neck!"

"So the drive contained his confession?" Burke asks, trying to draw her back to the facts as a way to calm her down.

"No, not that," Beckett huffs. "It was impersonal, virtually a textbook case write-up. I actually think that he must have other copies of the drive tucked away for other people. He has a memo that explains how he was contacted and the details of the deal. Then there are folders for every aspect of the investigation – his notes from calls and meetings with Mr. Smith, a file on my mom, a file on my sniper, other files – every single lead or contact, meticulously organized. If that's what he can do, there's no way he's dodging paperwork again if I ever let him back into my precinct," she grumbles.

"Are you upset the file was impersonal?" Burke asks.

"No," Beckett replies quickly. "There was a sealed envelope in the same folder as the will and the drive. It was addressed to 'my dearest Kate.' I'd guess that the more personal communication was in there," Beckett replies, ducking her head again.

"Are you upset he might have made other copies of the file?" Burke asks.

Beckett furrows her brow at the strange question until she realizes Burke's misunderstanding. "No, that would be smart on his part," Beckett replies, looking up at him and prompting a confused look from Burke. "Don't you see? Castle knew what he was doing was dangerous and could get him killed. This file was a way to explain what happened, a way for me to pick up where he left off. The envelope it was stored in has a date – he must update it regularly with whatever new information he finds."

"That's…" Burke trails off, out of his element in this world of information fail-safes and potential assassinations.

"Crazy? Stupid? Irresponsible?" Beckett suggests a conclusion to his statement. "Yes – all of the above."

"I take if you've not discussed this with him?" Burke asks.

Beckett reacts with an immediate, boisterous "Ha! We've not spoken since he left the restaurant and I don't know when we will."

"I want to come back to that, but one more question to make sure I understand the situation," Burke prefaces. "You mentioned that he said something about a choice when he finally departed – what was that about?"

"I'm not sure," Beckett replies while running a hand through her hair. "There's nothing explicit on the drive. But I think he means what I choose to do next – whether I'll leave the case alone now that I know about the deal and about the investigation he's been pushing, or how I'll proceed if not."

"Assume that you're right," Burke directs. "What will you choose?"

"I don't know," Beckett replies quietly. "I want justice for my mom and I _will_ see the person responsible for her death behind bars," she vows. "But I'm not sure I'm strong enough yet. Especially not if I have to do it alone."

"Why would you have to do this alone?" Burke asks, baiting a trap for Beckett.

"Haven't you been listening? Castle _betrayed my trust_. He knows, better than anyone else, what this case means to me, what it does to me. He kept me off it for _months_," she scowls. "I will catch the bastard who's responsible, and if I can't trust anyone else to help, I'll do it myself."

"We both know that's wrong," Burke says flatly, pinning Beckett a disappointed look.

In all her sessions with Burke, she can't recall a time when he specifically called her out. He was good at sniffing out evasions and hedging, but he'd circle the topic while using questions to get her to focus on direct answers. Never before has he just refused to accept an answer. She doesn't like it.

"Okay, then, what's the answer?" Beckett shoots back, annoyed at Burke's apparent foray into confrontation.

"You know, Kate, a colleague of mine recommends an exercise I've chosen not to use, but maybe it's appropriate here," Burke explains as he refuses to answer her question. "Dr. Werber's suggestion would have me direct a chain of yes or no questions to you. A single 'no' breaks the chain, but a 'yes' moves us to the next question. Is this something you'd be willing to try? Obviously, its effectiveness is determined by your comfort and your honesty."

Burke isn't backing down, Beckett notes with begrudging respect. He's never been this direct before, so Beckett gives him the benefit of the doubt based on the trust they've built in their previous sessions. With some hesitancy, she nods her assent.

Nodding in return, Burke takes a few moments to compose his questions. For some reason, Beckett is glad to see that he's not writing anything down.

"You heard Mr. Castle confess his love to you when you were shot," Burke begins with a softball, since they've spoken about this before.

"Yes," Beckett replies promptly.

"You chose not to contact him while you were recuperating from your injuries."

"Yes," Beckett winces, though Burke's tone held no recriminations.

"Upon your return to police work, you told him you wouldn't be able to have the type of relationship you wanted until you found peace for your mother," Burke summarizes an earlier discussion.

"Yes," Beckett answers as she appreciates the way he phrased his statement.

"Mr. Castle was offered a deal that would keep you safe at the cost of pursuing the case," Burke asks, falling into a rhythm.

"Yes."

"He accepted the deal, but pursued the case while keeping you from doing so."

"Yes." A near growl.

"He knew pursuing the case might get him killed and ensured that you would receive the details of his investigation in the event of his demise."

"Yes," Still gruff, but inflected with sorrow.

"You feel betrayed by his decision to keep you off the case."

"_Yes_." Emphatic.

"You feel angry because he's risking his safety to pursue the case in your place."

"_Yes_." Even stronger.

"You feel guilty because he's pursuing the case so you can be in a relationship with him."

"Ye – what?" Beckett asks, wrenching back her near agreement that spilled out by rote. "What do you mean?"

"You agreed that Mr. Castle loves you and that you told him you couldn't be in a relationship until your mother's case is resolved. Do you not see the connection to his pursuing the case? Or is your objection that you don't feel guilty about providing motivation for his actions?"

"I … I don't think that's true," Beckett replies, though she knows that she's wrong. "He'd do if for me even if he didn't love me. It's just who he is."

"Really?" asks Burke. "He'd be a paradigm of virtue if he'd jeopardize his life and his daughter's security for just any friend, don't you think?"

"No, he'd be an idiot, someone who doesn't understand the danger, just like at the precinct," she rallies.

"I think we need to refocus our discussion, Kate," Burke sounds disappointed at her dodging, "as I don't think this line is productive. But I'll leave you with one more thing to think about: for someone you claim doesn't understand the danger, Mr. Castle seems to have taken great steps with his attorney to protect his loved ones and ensure that you get whatever information he can find while investigating in your place."

With that barb delivered, Burke pauses to take a sip of water and to reconsider where to refocus their discussion.

"Kate, tell me this – what really bothers you about Mr. Castle taking the deal?"

"The secrecy," Beckett snaps, still uncomfortable with this notion that she set Castle on his course. "It's not that he took the deal, but that he didn't tell me about it."

"That's a fair distinction," Burke accepts. "When should he have told you about it?"

"As soon as he got the damned call!" Beckett rails.

"Kate, is that reasonable? Think back to our sessions when you first returned from your father's cabin – do you honestly think you were in a position to consider an ultimatum like that?" Burke asks.

"We'll never know," Beckett fights back, "since I never had the opportunity to find out. This was _my_ decision, not Castle's."

Changing tack, Burke tries a different approach. "Are you worried that Mr. Castle was never going to confide in you?" He appears pleased by the pensive look that's stolen over Beckett's face.

"I don't think so," Beckett says after considering the question. "I might have been worried a week ago. But, I keep thinking about how he came to me with news of my marriage when the safe reaction would have been to keep quiet. And when we talked at the restaurant and he refused to take the USB drive back, he said that it was always meant for me and that now might be the right time."

"Does that bother you?" Burke asks a seemingly odd question.

"I think he would've told me sometime, maybe even sometime soon," Beckett replies with furrowed brows. "Why would I be bothered by him confiding in me?"

"We both know," Burke asks with poker face in place, "how difficult it can be to confide a secret after holding it close for a while, don't we?"

Caught short by this question, Beckett has to pause again to give it some thought. Is that bothering her? That Castle would have come to her with news of the deal, did come to her with news of her husband, while she sat on her lie. If she hadn't slipped at the restaurant, when would she have told him? She tries to tell herself that it would have happened soon, but she's chickened out and pushed him away repeatedly in recent weeks. She's uncomfortably aware that she doesn't handle these issues very well. As is Burke.

"Yes," Beckett agrees quietly. "Yes, it is difficult."

"Kate, I think we need to wrap this up. We've covered a lot of ground today. We might not have reached any epiphanies, but you know my theory about those – they rarely happen and when they do it's because we've put in the work and gotten ready to see the answer that should have been obvious all along."

"Yeah, okay," Beckett agrees. She still lacks the clarity she hoped would arrive in today's session, but at least she's trying to come to terms with recent (her husband) and longstanding (Castle's affection) developments.

"You clearly have a lot to think about," Burke continues, "but let me pose one last question for today." At Beckett's nod, he continues. "You assume the choice Mr. Castle mentioned is related to your mother's case – whether you'll choose to pursue the case now that you know about the deal. And I agree that this interpretation seems the most likely. But I'll give you an alternative choice."

Beckett perks up, as it sounds like Burke is going someplace unexpected.

"In the past hour, you've used quite a few words to describe Mr. Castle: 'sweet,' 'stupid,' 'impulsive,' 'noble,' 'smart,' 'idiot,' and 'crazy,' just to name a few," Burke rattles off, while Beckett chuffs in response, noticing he skipped 'miserable bastard.'

"You've also described several powerful emotions he's evoked: frustration at his insight into your reactions, fear about his dreams of a committed relationship with you, discomfort at the attention you received in his will, jealousy with the attention he receives from other women, possessiveness about having him at the precinct, and betrayal from his actions regarding the deal he struck to keep you safe and off your case," Burke summarizes, leaving Beckett feeling a little shell-shocked from the rapid-fire summary of her scattered feelings.

"Despite all of this – the variety of adjectives, the range of emotions – I wonder if there's something else that's bothering you, something other than your mother's case about which you should consider making a choice," Burke prefaces, but then stops until Beckett looks up and focuses on him.

"You said Mr. Castle knows you better than you know yourself," Burke starts, and waits for Beckett's affirming nod.

"And you said he told you again – despite everything else going on – that he loves you," Burke continues, again waiting for Beckett's blushing nod.

"Do you wonder if maybe your choice should be whether to believe him?" Burke asks. "Whether to believe that despite how fractured or afraid you feel, the person who knows you better than you know yourself believes you're worth being loved?"

* * *

A/N2: Tomorrow's report for work is in good shape, so I stole a little time to take care of this chapter. With luck, I can manage to get one more chapter out relatively soon to get this to a bit of a stopping point. Maybe not the end, but an end.

One more note: I promise my next story will have no encounter with Burke. It's just that Beckett's wrestling with some serious issues here, and the poor woman doesn't seem to have many people in whom she can confide. She can't go to her dad with this, as the discussion of the contents of the drive would be too volatile. I'm not sure Lanie's an option, either, since I'm not sure Beckett could count on getting to the deeper issues rather than stalling out on ribbing about Castle's affections. Castle's out, clearly (though he shouldn't be). So, Burke gets to be the one who helps Beckett try to get out of her own head. We'll see how this works out in the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: This is not the chapter I thought it would be. More on that thought down below.

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* * *

"Kate, good to see you again!" Fitz welcomes her cordially. He's decked out in a full Brooks Brothers ensemble today, with a conservative gray suit, crisp white shirt, and the most studiously boring maroon tie imaginable. Her impression from Saturday looks like it was accurate – he's much more comfortable dressed up than dressed down.

Thanking his secretary for showing her straight in (no time in the waiting room for a friend of Rick's, apparently), Fitz escorts her towards his desk and waits beside her. After Beckett declines his offer of a beverage, he walks around his desk and lowers himself into his seat.

"How are you?" Fitz asks pleasantly. Beckett's reminded of old-school doctors, the ones who used to sit and talk with patients in their offices before moving into an exam room. She appreciates that Fitz is willing to be friendly and ease her into what might be a difficult meeting.

"I'm doing well, thank you," Beckett replies pleasantly. "Are you okay after we dragged you in on a weekend?"

"Considering your profession, there are much worse ways that you could have had me hauled in," Fitz laughs. "I did get a good rise out of my wife when I told her a detective was putting me through the wringer this morning," he says with a devilish smile.

"Fitz, that's terrible!" Beckett laughs. "That poor woman is probably worried sick."

"No worries, she hasn't really believed anything I've had to say since the first Clinton Administration," he chuckles. "Before we get started, do we have any time constraints? Do you need to get back to the precinct or to court?"

"No, I took the day," Beckett replies, happy that Fitz is considerate enough to ask. "Though I'm hoping that it won't take _that _long."

"I'll try not to be offended by your desire to limit your time with me," Fitz fires back. "But, it's a good thing we have some time," he says as he reaches down and opens a drawer in his desk. Straightening up, he holds a thick accordion folder dramatically over his desk before releasing it to create a resounding *thunk* as it lands flat on the desktop.

"Please tell me that's Castle's file," Beckett moans, knowing it's not.

"Oh no, Kate, I'm afraid that this is all yours," Fitz says, and Beckett's concerned that this time he doesn't laugh.

"I'll give you copies of everything, both physical and electronic," he explains. "As for me, I'm an old man, I'll be killing trees until the day they get their revenge," he says as he withdraws the stack of papers from the folder. Beckett notices there appears to be divider tabs separating the stack into three or four segments.

"Ready?" Fitz asks, rubbing his hands together. At her wary nod, Fitz dives in.

"We're in a bit of a jam with your husband," Fitz begins, and Beckett groans at this inauspicious beginning. "You see these papers here? I've got them grouped into the different laws he's violated and the different regulatory agencies that will be queuing up to get a piece of him."

"Am I going to lose my job?" Beckett squeaks out, terrified about the apparent depth of Rogan's illegal activities.

"Well, there's good news there, I think. You should be fine, especially if you can provide some of the documentation we'll be discussing. No, the problem is this – unless you're willing to corroborate many of the claims that your husband has made, there's no way for him to avoid prosecution for the laws and regulations he's violated. But, of course, even if you wanted to help him you couldn't – kind of hard to reconcile your years of service to the NYPD with being in a coma in upstate New York," Fitz explains.

"Then what's the problem?" Beckett asks.

"Rogan O'Leary has been skirting the laws for years. He's what we'd affectionately call a lower-caser – he's bad, with a lower case b, not Bad as in 'I'll beat you, rob you, then drive over you' with an upper case B. You probably know the type?"

"Sure, we see them at the precinct – bad enough to get into trouble, but not so bad as to get involved in serious crimes," Beckett agrees.

"The kind of bad that appeals to rebellious young ladies?" Fitz asks with an upturned brow and small smile, reminding Beckett once again of why Fitz and Castle must get along so well.

"Oh, Fitz, and we were getting along so well," Beckett laments while shaking her head.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," he chuckles. "I've got a 13-year old grand-daughter. I need to practice my cautionary tales."

"So glad to help the youth of America," Beckett replies sarcastically. "Though you know, don't you, that your warning is more likely to be an enticement…"

"Okay, okay, I give!" Fitz replies, waving his hands in surrender. "Cheap shot on my part, and now I'll have nightmares about your riposte. Moving on!" he says as he squares the corners of the stack of paper in front of him.

"The problem is your husband's life of delinquency has provided him with a rough education in how to operate on the edge of the law. As soon as we approach to dissolve the marriage, he'll know that all of this," he says, nodding to the paper stack, "is about to fall on him."

"Why's that a problem?" Beckett asks, starting to get an inkling of where this is going.

"It means our approach will probably go one of two ways," Fitz explains. "Route one: we show up with paperwork in hand and he signs as quickly as possible, hoping to get away before the consequences arrive," Fitz says while dramatically rapping a fist on the stack of papers.

"Route two," he continues. "We show up with paperwork in hand and he realizes that signing might be tantamount to acknowledging guilt relating to all this," again with a thump to the paper. "In this case, he refuses to sign, demands a meeting with you, and seeks a reconciliation or some… concessions from you."

"'_Concessions_?' Let me guess – that's what you and I would more commonly call 'extortion' or 'blackmail'?" Beckett sighs.

"Yes, except that the definitions of those terms are somewhat malleable within the confines of a legal marriage in the state of New York," Fitz replies.

"Crap," Beckett replies succinctly.

"Quite so, I fear," Fitz replies.

"So," Beckett summarizes, "it sounds like I need to decide between being the sap or the heavy?"

"That's accurate," Fitz replies, "and well said. You can go in soft and risk a fairly high chance that he'll try to take advantage of or compromise you. Or, you can go in heavy and squash him flat, then maybe feel guilty about it later," Fitz says, though he looks doubtful about the need to feel remorse in this situation.

"Why do I have the feeling there's an added wrinkle here?" Beckett asks.

"Caught again," Fitz confesses. "You and me?" he says while waving a hand between them. "We're never playing cards. The 'added wrinkle' you anticipated is this: we've only got one shot. Right now, he doesn't know we're coming. If he gets word, he'll bolt, and he seems like someone who's used to living on the edge of common society. Bunking with friends, fake IDs, stolen credit cards – if he goes to ground, it could take us a while to track him down. We could still dissolve your marriage, but it would take much longer and might get unduly complicated."

Rubbing her face in frustration, Beckett sighs. She wishes Castle was here with her. Wait, what? No, forget it – she's not going to pretend. She's still angry with him and with herself, still confused about how to come back from the mess they're in now, but she's not going to lie to herself – this would all be better if he were here beside her. And the worst damned part, she realizes, is that he would be – she could call him right now and he'd be here within 15 minutes. He might be angry, after Saturday's dinner and revelations, but he'd be here.

Denying herself that comfort, either as atonement or out of lingering anger, she forges on alone. "Let's do this, Fitz," she suggests. "Tell me what's in that stack and then we'll plot our course."

"You've got it, Kate," he says as he slices off the top layer of the stack. "This stratum pertains to income tax filings since your wedding," he explains as Beckett once again has a visceral reaction to hearing 'your wedding.' "Since then, Rogan's filed a joint tax return. Each was signed by Katherine Hawton O'Leary – H-a-w-t-o-n."

"Really?" Beckett asks incredulously. "The criminal mastermind didn't even spell my name correctly?"

"What can I say?" Fitz chortles. "It just makes it that much easier to identify the charade."

"Does this mean I'm in trouble with the IRS?" Beckett asks, wondering if she's going to see her already meager paycheck garnished for the next 50 years.

"You should be fine," Fitz soothes, "though we've got some paperwork to fill out," he says as he skims off a section of the first layer. "Oh, my beloved Form 8857," he coos. "This is what the IRS calls 'A Request for Innocent Spouse Relief.' As much as this makes me fear for our society, you are not a trail-blazer: the IRS has had many previous cases that laid the groundwork for us. You fill out this form and provide the necessary documentation and we'll supplement it with the evidence we collect and the paperwork from your marriage dissolution."

"And that's it?" Beckett asks, expecting far worse.

"Maybe," Fitz replies. "You can expect the high probability of a full audit, potentially of every income tax return you've filed since you were nineteen. As long as your filings were accurate, you should be okay," Fitz says, then notices Beckett's look of discomfort. "Look, don't be concerned. We've got an IRS specialist on the team and Rick's got a great accountant. I'm not suggesting any malfeasance, but if your concern is about the audit process itself or how to prepare to defend old filings, don't worry."

"Thank you," Beckett says quietly, appreciating Fitz's efforts to provide some comfort.

"As for your husband, he's screwed," Fitz says flippantly. "The IRS can go after him for a number of criminal acts, including tax fraud, identity theft, and forgery. One thing I haven't tracked down yet – some of those laws might have extra provisions or penalties that are relevant here due to your position with the NYPD. Typically, courts aren't too keen on people forging the names of police officers."

"No, I imagine not," Beckett replies to keep their discussion moving along. "Actually, on that front, have you come across anything that suggests he's used my position with the NYPD to do anything he shouldn't have?"

"Happily, no," Fitz replies in a calm voice. "Your husband's a clever operator, though, so we've got Debbie digging. You haven't officially met her – she works best on her own, and I've never encountered a more effective private investigator. If there's anything out there, she'll find it."

"Thank you, Fitz," Beckett says uncomfortably, "but maybe we can put her on hold for a bit? I need to check on my finances before this goes much further."

Looking confused, Fitz sits back in his chair. "Kate, it's already taken care of. When Rick extended our agreement to you, it didn't just include me, it included his full legal and accounting team."

"He has a full team?" Beckett asks, a little incredulously. "What does he need a PI for?"

"Stalkers, plagiarists, identity thieves, the machinations of current or hopeful ex-wives… there's a long list of people who've tried to take a shot at Rick," Fitz smiles, "figuratively, not literally. He made some mistakes when he got started, but he learned quickly."

"I'm glad he's protected, glad that you keep him safe," Beckett says with her head still reeling. "Still, I don't think he expected this much trouble when he offered to help. We should slow things down until he and I can talk."

"No need, Kate," Fitz soothes again. "I talked to him on Monday and let him know that we were going to need the full team. He gave me the green light and told me to pull in anyone else I needed."

Damn that man, Beckett thinks affectionately. Two days after their blow-up at Vinnie's den of iniquity and he's still looking out for her. She was at home, "sick," trying to figure out next steps while he was giving Fitz the go-ahead. He really is just too generous sometimes.

"Okay," Beckett replies uneasily. "Is there anything left in that first stack?"

"No, not for today's discussion. You should review them of course, but I've flagged the places you should pay particular attention or where you'll need to fill something in. We'll need to meet again, with your tax filings in hand."

Setting the first layer to the side, Fitz skims the next set of documents from the main pile.

"Ready? Still have the energy to continue?" he says in an ebullient voice, smile contagious. "Stratum two: the False Claims Act."

"What?" Beckett's jarred already. "Isn't that what the Department of Justice uses to go after companies that misbehave?"

"Oh, yes," Fitz says happily. "It's a wonderful law. It applies broadly to a wide range of fraudulent activity, whether committed by individuals or companies. In your husband's case, both are probably applicable."

"Both? What, did he incorporate or something? Rogan O'Leary LLC?" she jokes (she thinks).

"Not officially, but I bet he's got some business cards suggesting that he did," Fitz laughs. "Let's cut to the chase on this one – among the areas of greatest interest for FCA enforcement is health care fraud. Your husband has been filing Medicaid claims for the treatment of his comatose wife. Given the regulatory paperwork necessary to do so, he's either built himself a nice little scam or he's gotten some help from one or more accomplices to represent the physician and facility approvals required to secure Medicaid reimbursement."

"This sounds serious," Beckett replies, trying to do the math quickly in her head.

"It is," Fitz says without a hint of a laugh. "This is a multi-year criminal endeavor to systematically defraud the government. While the DOJ typically goes for fines and restitution, the legal might here can match that of the IRS. We haven't figured out how much this scheme has defrauded from the government for fear of tipping our hand, but remember this: Medicaid is a joint state/Federal program. There will be two sets of prosecutors looking at him for this."

"Oh," Fitz adds as he turns a few more pages, "I almost forgot. Another FCA issue: his collection of disability benefits from your tragic accident. That'll get added to the tally, too."

Rubbing her temples ferociously, Beckett looks down. This Kafka-esque nightmare just keeps getting worse. And they aren't through the file yet! What did Burke say – why do these things keep happening to her? She better get some serious time in Valhalla for all the suffering she's undergone in her life so far, she thinks.

Fitz's hand to her shoulder startles her slightly, causing her to look up. Holding a glass of ice water and some packets of pills, he gives her a gentle smile. "Acetaminophen or ibuprofen – pick your poison," he says quietly but with his usual good humor. "If it's any consolation, I think we're through the worst of it. Just one layer left, then the mystery," he trails off to capture her attention.

"The mystery?" Beckett takes the bait, and the acetaminophen.

"See, I have my tricks, too," Fitz says gleefully. "You're a detective, so I figure if I end with a mystery I can make sure we plow through this whole stack. But no reading ahead – are you ready for the next layer?"

Downing the pills with a healthy gulp of water, Beckett gives a hearty nod. Invigorated by the cold drink, the promise of a mystery, and the end of the road in sight, she's ready to resume the discussion.

"Stratum three," Fitz intones formally, "common fraud," he exhales quickly while blowing a raspberry, letting his deflation signal his lack of interest in this topic. "Here again, there doesn't appear to be anything that connects you, aside from the fact that you're not in a coma nor have you been. Mr. O'Leary has collected a tidy sum from charitable organizations under the guise of investing in your care. He might have an accomplice – some of his _funding requests_," Fitz says as he holds up as if it's something odorous a stapled pamphlet that appears to support Rogan's request for charitable support, "include pictures of a woman who is clearly not you. Whether she was a willing participant or if she's even involved will be someone else's job to determine."

"What about…" Beckett trails off, embarrassed.

"Yes, Kate?" Fitz replies, coaxing her to voice her concern.

"What about the women?" she asks quietly. "You mentioned that he attracted… admirers for his care of his wife," Beckett prompts. Though she knows it's ridiculous, that it's not her fault, she can't help but feel soiled by Rogan's misappropriation of her name and identity to coerce physical relationships and avoid commitment.

"Ah," Fitz says, slightly discomfited. "As to that, it'll depend on whether any of the aggrieved parties choose to pursue private action. Don't forget," Fitz says with a look both guilty and disgusted, "most of our laws were written by men and are predominantly enforced and adjudicated by men. There aren't many successful prosecutions of people who lied to entice the participation of a romantic partner – only the good lord knows how few men would still be walking free otherwise – but I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. O'Leary stole money as well as affection from these women. So, they'll have claims, too."

"Plus," he adds after a slight pause, "they might be interested in exacting a rougher form of justice if they catch him." Fitz tries to maintain a straight face when he delivers this line, but he just can't manage to hold off a grim smile.

Nodding while she enjoys the image of Rogan being hunted by a pack of wronged lovers, Beckett sobers as she thinks about the big picture. "Is that it for the third layer?" she asks.

"More or less," Fitz agrees, "unless you have questions?"

"I do," Beckett says, then grimaces. "I guess I shouldn't use that phrase in this context." Fitz chuffs out a laugh then signals for her to continue.

"I'm confused about my liability here. Clearly, Rogan's been getting into serious trouble, but aside from the potential tax implications, it looks like I'm not directly involved. It's crazy to think that he was shielding me, right?"

Fitz gives her a long look before wading in. "I can appreciate why you'd like to think that," he says kindly, "and you might be right."

"But you don't think so," Beckett offers, to Fitz's shaking head.

"I'm afraid that when I look at this," he says as he passes his hand over the papers stacked across his desk, "a different picture emerges. What I see is a very careful pattern of Mr. O'Leary trying to stay off your radar. Did he try to access your bank accounts? Take out credit cards in your name? Use any assets as collateral? No, at least not that we've found."

Collateral for loans, Beckett thinks numbly to herself. She hadn't even thought about that. Wouldn't that be a wonderful surprise to find out that there's a lien on the family cabin because of this mistake?

"No, I think Mr. O'Leary has been very careful to profit from his… association with you in a way that can keep going without your knowledge. The tax forms are the only counterexample, but I think he got ahead of himself there – he probably filed jointly before he thought about the longer game, then decided to stick with the joint filings to avoid the attention that comes from a change in status."

With elbows on her knees, Beckett takes a break to rub her eyes with the heels of her hands. What an unbelievable mess. Despite her earlier words to Fitz, she really should be a cautionary tale, a bogeyman to illustrate the perils of stupid acts of drunken rebellion. It's a campaign that would appeal to protective dads, too – which would you rather your daughter have, she thinks, a small, tasteful tattoo or a large, conniving criminal husband? Recognizing that she's losing focus, she has fun imagining how Castle might sputter when posed with that scenario for Alexis.

"Ready for the mystery?" Fitz entices, trying to pull her back.

"Yes, please," Beckett nearly begs. "Please give me something else to think about."

"Well, it's not exactly something else, since it's obviously wrapped up in all of this," Fitz says as he waves his hands. "But it's diverting, and it's something we might have to think about anyway."

Fitz is looking at her expectantly, and Beckett realizes that he's trying to get her more engaged. Taking her elbows off her knees and focusing on Fitz, she reinvests in the conversation. "Okay, Fitz, you've got the attention of an NYPD detective. Hit me with you best mystery."

"Now we're talking," Fitz says happily while rubbing his hands together. "You already know that Rick is a pretty good researcher. He and Debbie have actually traded notes and she's had some kind words about his skills, which is highly unusual for her. And in your situation, however obtained, we're glad that he discovered evidence of your marital status, right?"

"Yes," Beckett admits. "Considering all of the trouble I could be in, I'm glad to know about it. And," Beckett adds with a smile, "of course I'm glad that it gave me an opportunity to meet you."

"Ha! I knew my charm would win out eventually," Fitz crows facetiously while ostentatiously pretending to adjust the knot of his tie, prompting a laugh from Beckett.

"Anyway, here's the mystery, finally: despite Rick's effort, why in the hell did it take so long for your marital status to become known?" Fitz asks to Beckett's surprise.

"What? I thought you said that Rogan was careful to stay under the radar?" she asks.

"I did," Fitz nods, "but what about all this?" he says as he points to the remaining stack of papers in front of him. "Do you know how many times this should have come up already? This is just a first pass. There's got to be loads of information out there about this."

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks, worried both that her information seems to be so readily available and that she, a trained investigator for goodness sakes, missed it.

"I've tried to group these by topic or chronology," Fitz explains, "but there are parts of your history about which I know nothing, like your academy days. Even in ignorance, though, I found a lot," he says as he plucks the first set of documents from the pile.

"Do you know what this is?" Fitz asks as he hands a blank form across to Beckett. She looks it over briefly – it's a document for federal security clearance. Shaking her head, she hands the document back to Fitz.

"Do you have any idea how many of these blasted things I've had to fill out for Rick? How many appendices, errata, and requests for supplemental information, references, and documentation? Every time he interacts with a federal agency, I need to fill it out or confirm details. It started when he was at the CIA, then DOD for Storm. Then, after we cleared the NYPD hurdle and he started shadowing you, the FBI checked him out for your kidnapping case. Then Homeland Security. Then some unnamed agency. And if they're checking Rick out, you know they're checking your background, too," Fitz says.

"What?" Beckett reacts in surprise. "Why would they check me out – I'm law enforcement, too."

"But you're not federal," Fitz points out. "I had to spend a full week, in person, to get Rick cleared with the CIA. Do you know how much weight that carried with the FBI or NYPD?" Fitz asks rhetorically while putting his hands together to make a circle. "Absolutely zero. No, you can be sure that every time you interacted with the Feds, from that first kidnapping case with what's-his-name," Fitz trails off, flipping open a notebook from a desk drawer, "Sorenson. From that case forward, all the Sorensons and…," checking the notes again, "Fallons had you checked out. As good as Rick is, I'd be concerned about the state of our national security if he found records that eluded the FBI and Homeland Security."

"Fitz," Beckett says, catching him off guard with the steel in her voice. "I'd been in a relationship with Sorenson before that case, before he moved to Boston. Are you telling me he knew about my marriage?"

"Oh, I…" Fitz trails off, clearly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Kate, I didn't know," he apologizes through his blush. "I don't know that he knew anything about it. I'm sure he had no reason to look when you were together," Fitz blindly assumes. "And during the case, it was probably someone in his office who would have been responsible for checking your background."

This 'mystery' portion of their talk was supposed to make her feel better, Beckett rails in her head, but it's only made her feel worse. Did Will know when they were together? Did he know during their kidnapping case with Castle? She's trying desperately to remember his behavior from so long ago, wondering if anything he said or did would give her a clue. The thought that he could have known, could have gone forward in silence, sickens her. It also can't help but highlight Castle's efforts on her behalf. She wishes now, fervently, that she'd asked him to attend this meeting with her.

"Aside from the federal inquiries," Fitz says while trying to get them restarted, "there's all the attention that followed the release of the Nikki Heat books. Your status as Rick's muse is hardly a secret, and there has been much research and speculation written," he says, holding up printouts from several newspapers, "and online," holding up selected webpage printouts, "about your background. With so many public records accessible online, and the attention from the books and even that wretched movie, I'm shocked that no one found out about your marriage and sold the story to the _Post_ or _TMZ_."

Oh, God. Had she thought this couldn't get worse? She told Burke that hearing the news from Castle had been terrible, but she can't even imagine reading about it in the paper. Or, no, here's a better scenario, she thinks wildly: sitting in the bullpen with Gates down the hall when Castle finds the story while playing on his cell phone. Or, even more humiliating: Castle sitting beside her when Espo visits the _TMZ_ website and starts cackling madly before calling Ryan over and then emailing the story to the whole precinct. And ME's office. Oh, lord, Lanie would absolutely kill her, either by assault or mortifying embarrassment.

Looking up at him, Beckett sees that Fitz is looking distinctly uncomfortable. He can see that the 'mystery' is affecting her more than the earlier topics. She can tell he's about to call it off, but he doesn't know how stubborn she is. "Fitz," she says, calling his attention to her, "let's keep going. I want to hear it all, please."

Giving her a quick nod after a quick study of her face, he seems to reconsider the decision to move forward when he picks up the next set of papers. "Umm," he stalls, "I'm not sure we should talk about this one," he says meekly.

"All of it, please," Beckett says politely, but firmly.

Rubbing his cheek with the hand not holding the papers, he gives a little sigh before wading in. "You probably remember some of the hubbub from when Rick was named one of the city's most eligible bachelors and the article linked the two of you?" Fitz says, looking warily at her.

"Vividly," Beckett says in a flat tone.

"Right, 'course you do," Fitz says, eager to move on. "I know Rick revels in the attention, but that damned article is like a lightning rod for whackos and nut-jobs," he laments. "Honestly, it kept us busy for more than a month, running interference, heading off stalkers, vetting guest lists for events he attended. Anyway, it's happened before and we have a bit of a routine for it. He added you to our remit," he says quietly, looking down.

"What, exactly, does that mean?" Beckett asks. She thinks that she spoke in a normal tone, but from Fitz's look of concern it must have sounded a bit more brusque than that.

"Nothing terrible," he assures her. "It's like what we do for Alexis – watch the press, monitor for activity, be ready to move if anything looks amiss. It's passive assistance – nothing active unless there's something that requires a response. He was concerned the publicity might harm you or affect your career."

Taking care to not sound gruff, Beckett asks in what she hopes is a calm voice, "Did you have to do anything?"

"We squelched a few stories on you and your experience at the NYPD," Fitz says with a nod. "They weren't anything overtly compromising or inherently libelous, but Rick made it clear that you would not appreciate the publicity and that it could impair your effectiveness as an officer."

Beckett's not sure what to think about this news. It was kind for Castle to shield her, but she would've appreciated hearing about it at the time. Of course, to be fair to Castle, she probably would've twisted his ear clean off had he broached the subject, especially considering how insufferably smug he was for appearing on the list in the first place.

"The reason I bring it up," Fitz continues, "is that of the articles we blocked, and I have them here for your review, one mentioned your time on the West Coast. Again, in retrospect, I'm surprised that none of them found out about your marital status. If nothing else, I would've expected one of them to interview your old school associates, some of whom could probably have pointed an intrepid reporter toward Mr. O'Leary, not as your husband but instead just someone to provide insight into the young Kate Beckett."

Focusing on the process rather than the terror of having her past classmates and acquaintances interviewed about her, Beckett asks Fitz, "How did you do this? Why didn't the media publish these stories anyway?"

"We're good," Fitz says proudly. "We can't prevent a media outlet from publishing whatever it wants to publish," Fitz admits. "But we can make sure the publishers understand the consequences of their decisions, especially if those decisions affect minors, public servants, wealthy authors with a good legal team, or companies that spend millions of dollars in advertising revenue. Plus, without a really juicy story about you, there was some hesitancy to antagonize the NYPD."

'Juicy,' Beckett thinks. Yeah, a story about eligible bachelor Castle cavorting with a secretly married detective would probably have qualified. Another bullet dodged, thank goodness.

"Were there other times when Castle had you do this on my behalf?" Beckett asks, wondering for how long she's been blissfully unaware of the public scrutiny deflected by the protective umbrella of Castle's legal team.

"You went on the watch-list when he started shadowing you," Fitz explains. "Aside from the _Ledger_ incident, there other times when Rick would call and put us on alert."

"For example…," Beckett prompts with a raised brow.

"Well, here's an example," Fitz says, turning to the next set of documents. "A stalker who blows up your apartment. I mean, how did this not reveal your situation?" Fitz asks, throwing his hands into the air. "You've got somebody who specifically targeted you, looked for ways to taunt you. And again, the Feds were involved. Then, your apartment gets blown up. Do you think the super welcomed you into your new apartment building without a background check after you blew up the last one?"

Fitz is getting wound up, Beckett notices with some affection. Whether it's on her behalf or just the frustration felt by someone who likes to see a job done right, she appreciates his investment in her cause.

"You know that you would've lost it all, right, if this came out then?" Fitz asks, jarring her attention back to him. "Insurance companies _love_ to find misrepresentations on the paperwork that they can use to deny coverage. If your marital status had come out then, you can bet your insurance company would have tried to cancel your policy rather than pay out for the losses you suffered in the explosion."

Yet another consequence she hadn't considered, Beckett admits with a grimace. Then, looking at Fitz, she has another thought.

"Wait a minute," she says, and Fitz can't help look guilty. "You were involved in my insurance claim, weren't you?"

"You must be a very good detective," Fitz compliments with a sigh. "Rick asked us to make it clear that there were interested parties observing the process to ensure there were no undue delays in payment," Fitz says, falling back on formal language as a refuge. "Of course, we didn't represent you and couldn't officially engage with your insurer, but we had our own assessor at the scene of your damaged apartment and made sure your insurer knew that we were prepared to address any deficiencies or delays."

"He never said a word…" Beckett mumbles, embarrassed that she hadn't even thought to question her good fortune. She's ashamed to recall that she was thrilled with the quick payment because it allowed her to leave the loft more quickly.

"He's like that," Fitz agrees happily. "If you had any idea how much of our effort is devoted to his family and friends, well, it's a lot. Martha alone…," Fitz trails off with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

"Who else is on this watch-list?" Beckett asks, curious about the breadth of Castle's protection.

"I think that's a question for Rick, not me," Fitz demurs gracefully and Beckett respects him enough to recognize that she shouldn't push.

"When else have you been asked to watch out for me?" Beckett asks, interested to move this discussion along so that she can spend the rest of the day thinking about everything she's learned.

"A few times," Fitz says vaguely, "several of which we'll talk about, like this next one – your mother's scholarship fund," he says while holding more documents aloft. "Nothing significant here, just a general suggestion to keep an eye out to make sure that any coverage of the fund didn't stray into your history rather than hers."

Beckett merely nods at this, feeling too raw on this topic to follow up with Fitz. He seems to recognize her mood and picks up the next set of papers, the last in the stack.

"This is the last set for today," he says quietly, "but maybe it's best left for our next meeting," he says as he moves the documents atop the pile of the ones they've already discussed.

"As tempting as that sounds, Fitz, let's just finish this," Beckett sighs, hoping it's the right decision.

"The last set of documents relate to your shooting," Fitz says with compassion. "Rick was… well, he was a bit of a mess. He asked us to do what we could to limit the articles, but we weren't very successful."

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks quickly.

"Don't you know?" Fitz asks with concern. "It was regional news, almost national. The attempted assassination of a police officer at the funeral of a police officer, surrounded by other police officers? That's the kind of terrible news that grabs headlines. You're just lucky it didn't happen in the autumn or it would have been fodder for campaign rhetoric on crime, gun control, police use of force, goodness knows what else."

"I was… away. Recuperating," Beckett explains. "I didn't watch the news."

"I can see why," Fitz says sympathetically. "You shouldn't be too worried. For our purposes, it represents two more ways in which your status should've been discovered: either in the news articles that followed or the accessing of your medical records."

With a deep sigh and a hand tangled in her hair, Beckett has to ask about yet another unexpected source of information. "What about my medical records?"

"Remember Rogan's Medicaid claims – there are a number of medical records that have been created to support those submissions," Fitz explains. "You'd had medical issues throughout your career when a search for records may have led to Katherine O'Leary's medical files. When you were shot, the hospital and treating physicians had a desperate reason reach out to access whatever medical records for you they could find."

"How do you know this?" Beckett says, recoiling from this fresh violation.

"Debbie has sources at the local hospitals. This," Fitz says as he lifts a single sheet of paper, "is a list of people who accessed the medical records of Katherine O'Leary."

"May I see that, please?" Beckett asks, proud that her hand isn't shaking as she takes the piece of paper from Fitz. There he is, fifth on the list – "Davidson, Cardiology." So, he might know, too. She's also proud that she doesn't betray any sign of this most recent blow to Fitz, but maybe that's just because she's become numb to the surprises.

"Fitz," she asks as she hands the paper back, "do you know when the doctors on this list accessed the Katherine O'Leary records?" She's not sure if she should feel betrayed that Josh might've known while they were together or terrible because he might have found out shortly after she broke up with him.

"When?" Fitz asks, surprised. "I think most of them accessed the records after your shooting, but I'm not sure. I can have Debbie look into it when she's back."

"Oh, she's gone?" Beckett asks, surprised. "I thought you said she's looking into my situation."

"She is," Fitz nods with a gleam in his eye. "In fact, in about…," he checks his watch, "five hours, she'll start getting ready for her dinner date with your husband."

"_What?_"

"You're not jealous, are you?" Fitz pokes with a smile. "As I mentioned earlier, Debbie is very good. She'll be in position to watch him and act if that's what you choose to do. Rogan has an outstanding warrant relating to some unpaid fines. It's enough to take him in, though, and depending on how you want to proceed, we could be ready to ensure that he's not released before your marriage and the attendant paperwork," he says with another thumping of the stack of paperwork, "are addressed."

"Debbie must be an interesting lady. You're not worried about her taking Rogan in?" Beckett asks.

This simple question prompts a boisterous guffaw from Fitz. "Oh, I'm not worried at all. Well, that's not entirely true. Debbie likes it when they try to run. She can get a little… exuberant when detaining targets," he laughs again. "So, maybe I'm a tiny bit concerned about collateral damage."

"She must be something," Beckett agrees, curious about this mysterious PI. "I'd like to see her in action. Maybe we could compare notes."

"Oh, you've seen her," Fitz assures her. "Or, pictures of her at least, courtesy of Page Six." At Beckett's inquisitive look, he explains. "She's been Rick's companion at events where there were security concerns. Nobody knows that's her role, of course. She blends in."

Well, Beckett thinks, curiouser and curiouser. She had no idea that Castle's had sufficient security problems that he's needed protection at certain events. He might actually be a little bit of a celebrity, she grudgingly admits. And, of course he'd have an attractive female bodyguard. Yes, she'll need to meet this Debbie, or maybe take up the role of his bodyguard herself.

"So, how would you like to proceed?" Fitz prompts. "Would you prefer to go in heavy or light?"

"Heavy," Beckett replies, though not happily. "I can't ignore the criminal enterprises that you've described. I'll be a laughingstock if it gets out that I was married to a criminal, but I'd rather that than lose my job due to an allegation that I went light on him because of our connection."

"If it makes it any easier, I think you're doing the right thing," Fitz says kindly.

"I still feel bad, which is stupid," Beckett confesses. "I mean, he's made his bed," she says while waving an arm to take in all the paper on Fitz's desk. "But he's not evil, at least he wasn't when I knew him. Unreliable, selfish, conniving, cheating, sure, but not evil."

"I'll tell you what: I'll give Debbie the go-ahead, but you'll have until 4:00 to call it off. If I don't hear from you by then, we're full steam ahead. I'll call you tomorrow morning to let you know where things stand," Fitz promises. "If you want to talk before then, call my cell," he says as he hands her a card after scribbling his cell number on it.

"Are you heading upstate?" Beckett asks as Fitz nods. "I'll let Debbie handle Rogan's detention, but I'll need to be there to deal with the legal issues," he explains. "I have a meeting with the local judge at 4:00, where I'll secure the additional paperwork we'll need to proceed."

"Thank you, Fitz," Beckett says sincerely, causing the attorney to blush slightly.

"No worries, Kate, it's like we talked about last time. Helping good people is a joy. Plus, it helps me earn back some of the money that I contribute at Rick's poker table," he says with a laugh, using humor to get back on track.

With that, Fitz stands, orders the papers on his desk, and returns them all to the accordion folder. "This is for you," Fitz says while extending the folder. "The files are marked or highlighted where I need information from you," he explains, "and there's an envelope inside that has a drive with electronic copies of everything in the file. It'd be good if you could go through the lot by the time we next meet, but we'll set the time for that after I meet Rogan. Oh, and start pulling together whatever tax records you have, too."

"Homework?" Beckett whines, trying to tease Fitz in an approximation of his grand-daughter.

"Penance," Fitz shoots back, prompting an embarrassed huff from Beckett.

"Speaking of…," Beckett leads in to capture Fitz's attention while she reaches into her pocket. With him looking on, she pulls out the infamous USB drive that's caused so much turmoil. "I need to return the drive that I borrowed from my file," Beckett confesses.

Nodding, Fitz turns to a file cabinet to withdraw Castle's folder with the relevant file inside. As he sets about his task, he talks over his shoulder. "I suppose you'd like me to return the drive containing your performance evaluations?" he teases, and Beckett groans. She hadn't thought about what files were on the drive she used as a decoy. That was probably a breach of protocol, if not labor laws, and she doesn't suspect that Ryan or Esposito would be happy to hear how cavalierly she treated the drive with their evaluations.

"Yes, please," Beckett replies as Fitz turns with the file in hand. "Here's your file from Rick's folder. I need to step over to the safe to get your drive," he explains as he comes around the desk and moves to the corner.

While Fitz is occupied, Beckett turns back to the file into which she snooped five days ago, starting so much of the confusion she's felt since then. With the folder open, she returns the drive to the plastic envelope. She's starting to close the file when she notices something – the unsealed envelope with Castle's will is still there. But the sealed envelope addressed to "My dearest Kate" is gone.

"Is something wrong?" Fitz asks as he returns and places Beckett's decoy drive on the desk in front of her. She's embarrassed that he's once again snuck up on her, and that she's once again got tears in her eyes when he does. At least this time they're still in place, even if that makes it a little difficult to see.

"Nothing's wrong," she answers sadly. "Just noticed that something's missing from the file," she confesses, though she probably shouldn't.

"I'm not sure I can help you there," Fitz says kindly. "Rick made some adjustments to his folder when he was here on Monday. Maybe you could ask him about it?" Fitz suggests.

"Yeah, maybe," Beckett replies automatically, not sure what she thinks of this idea. Like everything else she's heard this morning, she needs time to think it through, to make sure she doesn't keep shooting herself in the foot by acting without consideration. She desperately wants to talk to Castle, but she needs to do so better than she's managed in their last few conversations.

Taking a deep breath to get focused, Beckett stands and extends her hand to Fitz. "Thank you, again, Fitz. You've been a wonderful counselor and I deeply appreciate it."

"My pleasure, Kate," Fitz replies happily. "Now, you go and relax while we take care of Rogan. Remember, you have until 4:00 to change course, otherwise the next you hear from me will be with news of our encounter up north."

"I'm looking forward to that call," Beckett affirms, "if only as a break from my light reading," she says while pretending to struggle to lift the accordion folder of paperwork Fitz bestowed upon her.

"Okay!" Fitz says as he walks her to the door. "You go home and take care of yourself, and we'll be doing the same thing. Take care, Kate, and maybe this will all be over in a few days."

"Thanks Fitz," she says as she takes her leave, while thinking about the missing envelope and wondering if it's over already.

* * *

A/N2: So, I'd thought that this chapter would be a conversation between Beckett and Castle, but decided to check in with Fitz, first. The chapter might be too long, but I had some fun thinking about the many different ways or times that Beckett's marital situation should have come to light before the end of Season 6. I covered some of them here, but there are so many other possibilities…

Also, a quick disclaimer: I don't know much about some of the topics described above. I've not been divorced, thankfully, nor do I have reason to know the dimensions of spousal privilege in New York. I file my taxes, but I haven't endured a full audit, nor do I know how far back the IRS could reach in a situation like the one described above. I do know a bit about the FCA and health care fraud, so that should be relatively plausible, except that if Rogan really tried to pull an ongoing Medicaid scam, he'd most likely be involved with others, and those others probably wouldn't be "lower-casers." Anyway, if there are mistakes above I hope that they weren't too distracting.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Many thanks for your comments and PMs, especially the kind ones that didn't give me too much trouble about dallying with Fitz or venting on some of the many ways in which Beckett's "husband problem" should have been discovered earlier. Several people made excellent points about other ways that this news should have broken. Though this story is set in season 4, I was especially dismayed by the reminder of Beckett's short-lived position with the AG's office in this regard. Nice to know that the background check for the super-feds failed to turn up criminal spouses… Anyway, back to the story. This chapter went a little sideways on me, but we'll see if it works.

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* * *

Standing in this familiar spot, Beckett wonders if she'll ever reach a point where she feels comfortable here again. Her heart is racing, she feels ridiculous, and the container she's carrying feels as unobtrusive as a man in the ladies' room.

Still, she thinks as she builds her courage, this is the right thing to do. She's taken the time she needed to think about things so that she's not just reacting blindly or out of fear. She's invested in some serious thought about the future, what she wants, and what she should do. And, thanks to a light homicide load at the 12th this week, Gates let her take today and tomorrow off, followed by the weekend. She's got the luxury of time to make sure she does this right. It's one of the reasons she's here at 10:30 in the morning, when he's likely to be alone.

Rapping her knuckles crisply on Castle's door, Beckett sends up a quick prayer. Please, she thinks, let me not screw this up. One more conversation like Saturday's at the restaurant and she probably won't need to worry about feeling comfortable at the loft ever again.

But, of course this is Castle, so of course she's thrown off balance as soon as he appears. He's craning his neck around from behind the door, looking at her owlishly through large, plastic safety goggles.

"Beckett?" he greets her politely, though lacking his usual warmth as he pulls the door open a few inches. He's still standing in the doorway, half of him still hidden behind the door. In addition to the goggles, he's wearing a white lab coat and yellow rubber gloves. He looks adorably ridiculous, like a kid playing along while watching Bill Nye the Science Guy on TV.

"Hi, Castle," Beckett chirps, trying to sound cheerful. "May I come in? I was hoping we could talk?" It comes out sounding like a question, though she'd hoped to sound more invested than that.

"Uh, okay," Castle stumbles after a moment of thought. "Just one thing – are you on duty?" he asks clumsily, but with a shadow of his usual look of mischief.

"Nope, this is purely a social call," Beckett replies, glad that he gave her the opportunity to make that clear from the start.

"Good," Castle says as he opens the door all the way, revealing the reason for his question. There, just over the breast pocket of "his" lab coat, is the red stitching that spells out "Perlmutter."

"Nice coat, Castle," Beckett says with a raised brow, fully willing to tease while trying to look serious.

"Hey, it's not my fault he's a slob," Castle defends himself. "He's always leaving his clothes behind… No, no, I just can't do it," Castle interrupts himself. "I can't even pretend about... just, eww," he exclaims.

"Oh, you were joking about him and you?" Beckett asks sweetly. "I thought maybe he and Martha hit it off, that the coat was a gift from your new step-father."

"That's… that's… really, fundamentally, elementally disturbing," Castle replies slowly. "And the imagery – thanks for that. I owe you big-time for that little gem," he says as he lifts his hands to rub his eyes, stopping only when he realizes that he's wearing rubber gloves.

"Dad!" Alexis' voice calls out from the kitchen. "It's time!"

Reacting quickly, Castle turns to leave before thinking to warn Beckett. "Better keep your distance," he says as they walk toward the kitchen. "We're out of safety apparel."

Looking over to Alexis, Beckett can barely see her behind the elaborate chemistry set-up on the kitchen island. It's like a set out of a science fiction movie – beakers, burners, piping, crazy, spiraling tubes – equipment Beckett hasn't seen since her last forensics course at the academy and hasn't used since high school.

"What's all this?" Beckett says while keeping her distance and setting her container down on the table.

"I'm helping Alexis with her lab work," Castle says importantly, failing to mask Alexis' resounding snort of disagreement.

"Yeah," Alexis agrees, "by showing me what _not_ to do."

"As in life, so in chemistry," Castle says with a shrug. "It's what I do."

Disputing his self-deprecation with an affectionate hip-bump, Alexis focuses on pouring the contents of a test tube into an awaiting beaker. Moments after the liquids meet, they coalesce into a pearlescent crystalline formation. Replacing the test tube in a rack, she claps her hands in satisfaction before casting her eyes to Castle's experiment.

Unlike his daughter's results, Castle's outcome isn't exactly successful. When his liquids meet, they seem to congeal and curdle while turning the yellow-gray of a yolk from an over-boiled egg. With a yelp, Castle quickly grabs some tongs and lifts the beaker, which now seems to be giving off a little smoke. Forgoing the sink, he drops his experiment straight into a waiting bucket. Clearly, this isn't the first time Castle's tried his hand at chemistry.

"Nice potion, Neville," Alexis compliments as father and daughter stand next to the bucket and cautiously peer in.

"Better than last time," Castle says in his defense while looking up. Beckett, who'd never noticed the discolored section of the kitchen ceiling before, revises her opinion on the necessity of their safety gear.

Alexis snaps off her gloves after turning off the burner beneath her beaker. Removing her goggles and setting them on the counter, she calls out a belated welcome to Beckett with a casual "Hello, Detective."

"Hi, Alexis. No school today?" Beckett asks, proud of herself for not showing any dismay that she's failed to catch Castle while he was alone.

"We're on half days today and tomorrow during an accreditation review," Alexis explains. "I could have used the lab at school, but Dad wanted to 'help,'" she says with air quotes accentuating the last word. "I'll be heading in as soon as my crystals cool. Would you like to join us for an early lunch?" she asks politely.

Glancing at Castle for permission before she accepts, Beckett's greeted by an impassive look that doesn't give her much to work with. Despite some stilted banter, she's still not sure where she stands with him – the talks with Burke and Fitz have helped her come to terms with some of the recent events in her life and some of her poorer behavior, but Castle doesn't know about that. Plus, it seems like he might still be justifiably angry following their conversation on Saturday.

"I'd like that," Beckett replies, figuring that Castle's had his chance to rescind the invitation. "How can I help?"

"Will you take care of the drinks?" Alexis asks as she washes her hands at the sink. "We're having a simple lunch, just chicken salad made from last night's dinner." While Alexis has been talking, Castle's been bustling in the kitchen after washing his hands, pulling down plates, setting out the fixings for their sandwiches, and pouring some chips into a bowl.

"Castle, will you grab some dessert plates and forks?" Beckett asks, getting a curious look in response.

As they settle in at the table and tuck into their simple lunch, the container Beckett brought with her can't help but draw attention. After a pleasant conversation during which Castle is conspicuously quiet, Alexis can't contain her curiosity any longer. "What's in the container, Detective Beckett?" she asks.

Revising her earlier thought, Beckett decides she's glad Alexis is here. It might actually make things easier, Beckett hopes, thinking that the young woman might provide a little buffer between her and Castle while they regain their footing after the turbulence of the last few weeks. With luck, they might even take a few steps forward.

"I haven't told you much about my mother, have I?" Beckett asks Alexis, ignoring Castle's look of surprise. "She was an incredible woman. You know what she did, why your dad helped set up a scholarship fund in her honor," Beckett praises to Alexis' nod.

"She was passionate – she felt very strongly about what she did and the people she helped. You know I still get thank-you notes from the people that she helped, or their families? At first they hurt," Beckett confides. "They seemed like terrible reminders that she was taken, that she was gone. But lately I've been able to appreciate them. How amazing is it that even though she left us so long ago, there's still evidence of what she did, still people who remember her fondly?" she asks proudly.

"She sounds amazing," Alexis says kindly. Then, with some wary hesitation, she adds, "I wish I could've met her."

"She would have _adored_ you," Beckett replies with a wistful smile. "She was already his biggest fan," she says while using her thumb to point at Castle, who looks like he can't quite believe this conversation is happening, "so she would have loved to meet the woman who raised him so well."

"Tried to, anyway," Alexis replies, matching Beckett's conspiratorial smile.

"But mom wasn't a saint – she had her faults, too," Beckett continues, getting them back on track. "She wasn't always the most patient of women, especially when dealing with people who didn't help when they could. She could be curt or abrupt, sometimes even abrasive," Beckett admits while looking directly at Castle, using this story as a way to show him that she recognizes she shares some of these traits.

"My dad is more of a conciliator – he'd try to soften mom's sharper edges, encourage her to tread lightly where she could and make amends when she didn't," Beckett explains while she catches Alexis looking at Castle, probably drawing her own parallels.

She wonders if she's boring Alexis, but the young woman looks fascinated when she returns her attention to Beckett. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised, Beckett thinks, since she's never shared much about her family with Alexis.

"Mom wasn't always patient with dad's efforts, but sometimes she'd have to admit she should have been a bit more gentle with someone," Beckett continues. "Once, they had a vigorous discussion where mom knew she was wrong but wouldn't admit it. She finally threw her hands up and said 'fine, maybe I'll bake him a Bundt cake or something.' I think it might have been a line from a TV show. After that, it became their code phrase – dad would mention 'Bundt cake' when it looked like mom might be getting carried away and mom would mention it when she knew she owed someone an apology." Beckett looks down and takes a moment to reminisce, recalling some of the conversations with gentle teasing about Bundt cakes and how elaborate they'd need to be in order to apologize for certain offenses.

"I'm a lot like my mom," Beckett states proudly, looking back up at Alexis and Castle. "I've been thinking about her a lot lately. So, when I knew I needed to apologize for how I've been acting, I remembered the Bundt cake story," she says with an embarrassed nod to the container. "I haven't apologized as often as I should have, so I'm not very practiced at baking yet, but it should be okay."

"That's sweet," Alexis replies with a soft smile. "She sounds like an incredible woman – I'd like to hear more about her," Alexis says carefully while looking at Beckett, then cheering when she notices that Beckett looks happy about this prospect.

"You guys are okay though, right?" Alexis asks while looking back and forth between her father and Beckett.

"Don't worry about us, Alexis," Castle offers in reply, raising Beckett's concern since he didn't really answer Alexis' question. "I did something I shouldn't have," he says with a raised brow and a shrug that causes an eye roll from his daughter, "and it's caused some chaos for Kate to clean up."

"Even if that was an accurate description," Beckett replies with her own raised brow, "we both know I haven't been as kind or thankful as I should've been." Castle looks uncomfortable, like he's not sure he wants to have this conversation, especially in front of his daughter.

"And we both know," Beckett continues with a clear voice, "I should've apologized long before now."

"It's just been two weeks," Castle says softly, trying to move past this discussion.

"More like two years," Beckett counters quietly.

Both Beckett and Castle lapse into silence at this, each unwilling or unable to look at the other. Thankfully, Alexis breaks the impasse when she stands to retrieve a serving knife from the kitchen, returning to slice and serve the physical manifestation of Beckett's apology.

"This is delicious!" Alexis says after sitting down again, maybe a little too exuberantly as she tries to rouse the participation of the two adults.

"Thanks," Beckett replies shyly. "The secret ingredient is contrition," she says with a small smile, which Alexis returns. Uncharacteristically, Castle remains quiet, though he seems to enjoy the cake.

Alexis' cell phone chirps as they're finishing their dessert. "Oh, no," she says quickly. "I'm running behind. There's not much excuse for showing up late when school starts at 12:15," she says as she stands quickly and transports her dishes to the counter. Quickly capping her chemistry project, she looks in dismay at the array of equipment they've not yet cleaned up.

"I'll take care of it," Castle says kindly after recognizing her dilemma. Alexis purses her lips but accepts his offer. "Put anything with liquids in the bucket and seal it – I'll deal with that after class," Alexis advises. "_Don't mix them!_" she admonishes fiercely, prompting a familiar-looking eye roll from Castle. Thief, Beckett thinks.

"Don't worry, pumpkin, the loft will still be here when you get home from school," Castle assures her. Looking only slightly less worried by his assurance, Alexis carefully picks up her beaker. "Thanks, Dad, this was fun," she says with a kiss to his cheek as he holds the door open for her. After whispering something into his ear and waiting for a grudging nod from her father, she turns and grabs her backpack. "Goodbye, Detective Beckett," Alexis says as she departs. "Thank you for the cake and for the sentiment behind it," she says as she casts her father a quick look and then bolts for the elevator.

"So, Beckett," Castle says as he returns to the table and starts the cleanup process. "Just in the neighborhood or did you stop by to check out my Longbottom?" he asks as he stands and begins to clean up from their lunch.

While the line is classic Castle, his delivery isn't quite natural, Beckett notes. As he did with the exchange about Perlmutter's lab coat, he's trying hard to put up the front that everything is normal, but he's not quite succeeding. Considering what happened when they last spoke, it's hardly a surprise. But his actions just confirm the need for her to follow through on her goals for the day.

"I wanted to see you, Castle," she begins as she helps transfer the dirty dishes to the counter. Castle's distracted, filling the sink and preparing to wash up. "I wanted to apologize," she says sincerely, watching him for a reaction.

"Yeah, I got that. It was tasty," Castle replies quickly. "But, like I said, no apologies necessary, Beckett," Castle repeats while watching the sink fill. "These last two weeks have held a lot of uncomfortable surprises."

Bothered that he's still focusing more on the dishes than on the conversation, Beckett admits that she can't really blame him for trying to skate through this conversation. Considering the way they usually interact, his approach would work – quick apology and acceptance, then back to normal. But not today.

"Castle," she begins, hoping that he'll look up from his task and engage with her. When he doesn't, she continues on. "Even if I was only talking about the last two weeks, I'd still owe you an apology. Especially for Saturday. But I'm thinking that I haven't been fair, or kind, to you for much longer than that."

"Beckett, I don't want to do this," Castle replies plaintively, hands stilling in the sink as he reaches a frustrated stopping point. "I didn't offer to help with your husband problem so that you'd feel bad or indebted. That happened long before my time and doesn't have anything to do with me. You and I are the same people we were a month ago, a year ago. Let's just get your situation resolved and then we can figure out if we'll go back to normal."

"That's not what's going on, Castle," Beckett says, a little lost about how to proceed. "I know I've not handled some of our talks very well, especially lately," she confesses, "and I'm afraid that I might blow this one, too. But I'm trying, here. Help me out? What do you mean when you say 'if we go back to normal'?"

Castle again pauses in his efforts while looking down into the suds. With a sigh, he finally looks at Beckett. "What I mean is if you want me back at the precinct, and if I'm willing to go."

"I want you back," Beckett replies immediately, sure about this part of his statement. "Don't you want to come back?"

"I want it very badly," Castle admits, looking down again, "But I have a habit of wanting things that aren't good for me. Wanting it doesn't mean that it should happen. Or that I'll let it happen."

Beckett's about to push him about that last statement, but she pulls herself back. She's being careful, she reminds herself, taking the time to listen and react honestly. So, instead of assuming that she knows his concern, she tries to get him to open up. "Talk to me, Castle? I'd like to understand what's holding you back," Beckett asks.

For a few moments the only sounds come from Castle's efforts to wash the dishes. "Two things," he says quietly, still not making eye contact. "There are two things holding me back." Pleased that they seem to be moving forward, Beckett waits patiently for him to explain.

"I need to know you won't charge in on your mother's case," he begins quietly. Expecting her to object, he quickly justifies himself even though Beckett hasn't said a word. "I'm not asking you to put the case away – I'd never do that, never make an ultimatum. But I need to be able to trust that you won't charge in alone, that we can do it the right way, together. We'd need to be careful – I know it'd slow us down, but it'd keep us safe. I meant what I said, Beckett. I can't… I won't stand there and watch you throw your life away. I'll be your partner, but I won't be your enabler."

Trust Castle to go right to the heart of the matter, Beckett thinks. They finally, finally seem to be having a direct conversation, one in which she hasn't yet lashed out or run away, physically or emotionally. She was worried he might be unwilling to talk, but he's jumped in with both feet. And he's probably waiting for a response, she belatedly realizes.

"I've thought about this a lot since our dinner and looking at your files," Beckett replies earnestly. "I've been a bit of a mess about it this week, actually. God, Castle, the risks you took …," she trails off, collecting herself. "I got sick just thinking about it, thinking about what could've happened to you, or to Alexis, or Martha. I still do."

Again, she stops to get her composure, to make sure she says this right. "I called in sick on Monday when I just couldn't get over it. But it wasn't just the fear for you and your family," she admits while looking down at the countertop. "I finally realized that I was sick with worry even though _you've_ been very careful. _I_ haven't been very careful," she chuffs. "As you say, I charge in alone. I can only imagine how much worse that must make you feel." Risking a look at him, she can see that her words have hit home. He's still looking into the soapy water in the sink, but he's perfectly still.

"So, I won't promise that it'll be easy, and I can't promise you won't be frustrated and irritated dealing with me, but I can promise two things. First, I won't hare off alone. Second, we're going to get on the same page about sharing information, including information called in by shadowy informants," she says while she delivers a light punch to his shoulder. Maybe not completely light, but much lighter than she'd thought about when first reading about Mr. Smith. "You talked about us doing this together – that's what I want," Beckett declares. "And I want both of us there once it's done."

She did it, she praises herself while her last words still ring in her ears. She managed to address her most personal, difficult topic directly and honestly without letting the specter of her feelings of betrayal poison the interaction. Emboldened by her success, she gets a little cocky.

"So, as you said that night I asked for help after your poker game – one down and one to go," she cajoles. "What else 'ya got, Castle?"

Her bravado doesn't make him laugh, but she can see the traces of a smile, even looking at him in profile. He takes a few moments to deal with a few more dishes, using the simple motions to get himself restarted.

"The other thing I need, Beckett," he starts, but then stops. His brow is furrowed and he looks annoyed that his words aren't coming out right. "What I need, _Kate_, is to know where I stand with you."

Just as he'd done with the first discussion, he quickly follows up to clarify. "I'm not looking for any declarations or promises. And again, this isn't an ultimatum – we'll solve your mother's case regardless of your answer. If our horizon is partnership or friendship, I can accept that," he says with a sigh, clearly indicating that he's hoping for more.

"What I thought I knew was pretty well blown up by your comment at dinner," he says, recalling her accidental admission. "I just need some honesty here, Beckett," he trails off. She thinks he's finished when his last admission slips out. "I'm so tired of being flayed by hope," he whispers.

Oh, Castle. It'd be easy to slip into despair thinking about how defeated her usually optimistic partner looks. But she's not here to prove her ability to break things – she's decided she's dealing with this head-on. She managed the conversation about her mother's case. This one should be easy, Beckett rallies herself, even if she wasn't planning to go this far today.

She's casting her eyes around the room as she tries to collect her thoughts and figure out how to explain herself to Castle. He needs an honest answer, and not a simple one that just addresses his request, but one that speaks to the deeper issues between them. Her eyes alighting on the kitchen island, she finds exactly what she needs and steps over to move it within reach for later.

Walking to the kitchen island breaks her heart. In just those few steps, Castle assumes she's leaving rather than talk to him. His posture sags, his head droops even further, and his grip on the sink looks like it would hold him in place even if the room was suddenly upended. Rather than seem like someone beaten by hope, he looks like someone who's given it up altogether.

His whole body stiffens immediately when she embraces him from behind. Her cheek is resting at the base of his neck, her arms are threaded beneath his, and her hands are on his shoulders. The longer she holds on, the more tension leaves his posture, until they're both breathing fully and nearly relaxed in this odd but intimate position.

"Like I said, Castle, my apology isn't just about what's happened since you discovered my '_husband problem_,'" Beckett starts by repeating, adopting his phrase for her current state of marital confusion. "But at the same time, I've learned some things I just can't ignore anymore. Like how long you've been watching out for me. Or how well you know me. Or how brave you were to confide in me," she trails off, irritated that her efforts to describe her thoughts are just producing bland platitudes. "Oh, this isn't coming out right," she says with frustration.

Taking a deep breath, she starts again, hoping that pure candor will get her on the right track. "I'm _not_ going to repeat the mistakes I've made in other emotional talks we've had. I'm _not_ going to lie so that I can run away and hide, and I'm _not_ going to lash out to put you on the defensive because _I'm_ feeling uncomfortable," she vows. As the vibrations of Castle's deep breath travel through her, Beckett's feeling a little better already. She still hasn't really said anything, but at least she's shown him that she knows how she's mishandled things in the past and that she's making a good faith effort.

"But not all of us are great authors, so bear with me, okay?" Beckett asks, and though he remains silent, Castle gives her a gentle nod. "I'm trying to say this right, but I might mess it up. I didn't really plan on our conversation going this far today, but like you said at the restaurant, you were always going to hear this so maybe now is the right time after all." Beckett's pleased with that bit, harkening back to what Castle said when she tried to return his USB drive at the restaurant. Even though it came to her on the fly, it cheers her to realize that she can weave their stories, their confessions together.

They remain quiet and motionless in their embrace for a few moments while Beckett collects her thoughts. Castle turns his head slightly when he feels Beckett take a deep breath, knowing she's ready to talk.

"You love like a thunderstorm, Castle," Beckett says quietly, a little embarrassed with her analogy and glad that his embrace allows them a physical connection but still lets her talk without looking at him – she's not sure she could speak this easily otherwise. "You soak everyone in your life in your affection – it just cascades from you in waves. It terrified me when I first recognized it. I'm who I am, Rick. I didn't want to be swept away, didn't trust where I'd end up," she confesses quietly.

"The more I learned about you, the truer this analogy seemed. Slowly, instead of being afraid of being caught up in the flow, I found myself wanting to accept it, starting to wonder what it would be like to jump into a barrel and head over the waterfall. That was even scarier," she whispers as she lowers her right hand from his shoulder to reach back to the island and grab the beaker she'd moved within reach.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Beckett raps the beaker against the side of the sink. The beaker fractures at the impact, structure intact but the spiderweb of cracks clearly visible in the glass.

"I was broken even before you met me, Castle. Fractured." Beckett says while looking over Castle's shoulder at the fissured beaker she placed on the counter, knowing that he's looking at it, too. "How could I hope to collect the love that was pouring from you? And then," she says, before pausing. "And then I literally had a hole in me, right at the moment you told me you loved me. I had no hope of catching and holding your love."

Beckett pauses as she feels Castle tightening up again, taking shorter, more ragged breaths as he recalls that terrible day. She forces herself to calm down and take deep breaths, using their lingering embrace to help calm Castle down.

"But Castle?" she says in a tone that finally grows hopeful. "I'm healing. I don't have that hole anymore. And my cracks? They're healing, too. You're helping them heal. You want to know where we stand, you want the honesty that you so rightly deserve? Here's where we stand – together, holding each other, looking forward to taking those last few steps. I'm so close to being there, Rick. I can already picture myself in your thunderstorm, washed clean, drenched to the bone and reveling in it."

"Beckett…," Castle sighs, trying to spin around to face her. Lowering her arms so that he can turn, Beckett's surprised by the strength of his hug as he grabs her and lifts her easily, burying his face in the crook of her neck. With one arm across his back and the other bent to allow her to run a hand through his hair, she glories in the feeling, basks in the joy of having returned a small fraction of the affection he's shown her.

Castle slowly lowers her back to the ground and pulls back enough to look at her. They are both teary, and both wear wide, beaming grins. _Screw it_, Beckett thinks, _I'm ready enough_. Throwing caution to the wind, she lunges forward for a searing kiss.

Having closed her eyes in anticipation, Beckett's confused by the texture her lips encounter. Rather than the delicious lips that she's tasted once but fantasized about often, she's encountered an almost stubbly cheek. Opening her eyes, she meets Castle's flushed but embarrassed gaze.

"Rick?" she asks, confused. "It's okay. You don't have to protect me. I might not be completely healed yet, but I think we can do this if we take our time and we're careful," she says optimistically.

Lowering his head so that their foreheads and noses touch, Castle releases a short, embarrassed huff. "It's not only that," he says with some embarrassment. When Beckett remains quiet, he stumbles to explain himself.

"It's just that…," he trails off warily.

"Yes?" Beckett coaxes.

"You're going to be pissed," Castle warns.

"Tell me," Beckett invites while using a hand to trace the shell of his ear.

"It's just that we shouldn't do this yet," Castle shrugs.

"Whyever not?" Beckett coos, her hand having slid back to toy with the hair on the back of his neck.

"Because you're married."

* * *

.

A/N2: I was sorely tempted to keep going, but I think we'll leave things there for the moment. Trust that when we next check in, Beckett's resolve to hold her temper in this conversation will be sorely tested (and Castle will be back to his talkative self). There might be a bit of a delay on the next chapter due to conflicting work/vacation/extended family responsibilities. But, it shouldn't be too long if so, and even if there is, at least I didn't leave things as they were at the end of chapter 3 when people were less than happy about a potential break.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Many thanks for all the comments and PMs on this story. I've been a bit hamstrung lately and haven't had as much time as I'd like for this. So, my apologies if I didn't reply to your comments, but don't think that means I don't appreciate the notes.

A "talky" chapter this week, as my daughter calls it.

.

_"It's just that we shouldn't do this yet," Castle shrugs._

_"Whyever not?" Beckett coos, her hand having slid back to toy with the hair on the back of his neck._

_"Because you're married."_

* * *

"What?!" Beckett squeaks, her arms dropping to her sides.

"You're married," Castle repeats sheepishly. "We shouldn't. It wouldn't be right."

"Surely you're joking," Beckett replies in a voice tinged with incredulity and a hint of anger. Castle's arms are still wrapped around her waist, holding them close together. She twists and pulls back, but he's not letting her go. Looking into his eyes, she sees that his impish look has returned and curses its timing.

As he takes a breath to speak, Beckett cuts him off. "I swear Castle, if you say 'don't call me Shirley,' not even Lanie will be able to put you back together," she growls.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, nearly choking on the words that he quickly swallowed. "But I'm not joking. We've waited this long, I'm sure we can wait for however long it takes Fitz to do his thing."

"He was doing 'his thing' yesterday – I should be hearing from him any time now. And, as you said before, my _marriage_ is a technicality, maybe not even that," she replies while pinning him with a look, happy to recall his earlier words of comfort. "Why are you fighting me on this?"

"Am I going to get punched again if I say 'it's not you, it's me'?" Castle says mischievously. Beckett raises a fist, looking at it while she flexes her fingers and reforms her fist several times before looking at Castle with a raised brow. "Depends on your explanation, I guess," she replies.

"These things, when they happen, are supposed to follow a certain progression," Castle says with an easy tone, but something in his voice catches Beckett's attention. "Separation, divorce, then moving on with someone new. The writing might have already been on the wall, but when Meredith … well, let's just say that after being on the receiving end, I swore to myself that I'd never put someone in that position."

"So, I'm in the same category with _Meredith _now?" Beckett asks, hurt, as she again tries to step out of his embrace. But again, Castle holds tight.

"No," he says resolutely, "absolutely not. I wasn't being glib when I said this was about me," he says with a self-effacing shrug, "even if it seemed like it. Trust me, Beckett, no one knows better than I do how different you are."

The calm focus she built for this conversation over the past day is long gone, Beckett realizes with a slight edge of panic. She's working without a net again, terrified that her usual defense mechanisms are going to lead her astray once more.

"Hey," Castle says as he tries to get her attention. "We'll be fine, Beckett. I've waited for _years_. A few more days won't kill us." Beckett's looking at him and his crooked, cocky grin, but she's still worried and unsure how to reply.

"Look, Kate," Castle tries again after catching her eye and holding her gaze. "When we look back 50 years from now, I want us to remember our beginning as something beautiful, something pure. That's worth a few days, right?" he asks in his most persuasive voice.

"Fifty years, huh?" Beckett says with a small smile, ridiculously happy that Castle gave her something that she could tease him about, threw her this conversational life preserver as something that would get her back on track. "A little presumptuous, wouldn't you say, for someone you've not even kissed?"

"A," Castle says resolutely, "I have kissed you. I shouldn't have done it, and I can't help but feel even more guilty about it now, but I can't deny that it was the single hottest kiss of my life. It might've been a year ago, but don't think that I've forgotten it. And I'll feel like less of a man if you tell me you have," Castle says with both brows raised.

"I haven't forgotten," Beckett whispers. "I never will."

With an emphatic, satisfied nod, Castle continues. "B, I've already confessed to fantasizing about being married to you, so the whole '50-year thing' shouldn't surprise you at all. In fact," he says, looking impish again, "I'd think I'd be in trouble if I _didn't_ picture us together 50 years from now considering my dream."

This is treading perilously close to her indefensible comment about Castle treating his wives as disposable, so she smiles in recognition that he's diffused the situation with humor, as usual. It's only fair to reply in kind, right?

"I wasn't giving you trouble about expecting us to be together 50 years from now, Castle," she says in a breathy whisper as she lifts her arms again to link her hands behind his neck, "I was just confused – I always imagined being with a centurion, not a centenarian."

"You know, Beckett," Castle says with a rueful grin, "I'm so impressed with your vocabulary that I'm going to overlook the cheap shot about my age."

"So, I can insult you as long as I do so eloquently?" Beckett asks sweetly as plays with the hair on the back of his neck, probably straying too close to the line again but unable to resist.

"And with good diction," Castle adds. "Just like always."

As they lapse into silence and goofy smiles, Beckett's phone breaks the moment with its signature trill.

"Let me get that for you," Castle offers, fishing her phone out of her back pocket with admirable restraint. Seeing who's calling she answers the call while holding the phone between herself and Castle.

"Hi Fitz, it's Kate. I'm here with Castle and I've got you on speakerphone," she says while looking at Castle rather than the phone.

"Ah, Kate, you might want to take this call in private. There were some, ah, problems," Fitz replies while sounding nothing like his usual, jovial self. Meanwhile, Beckett trades alarmed looks with Castle.

"Go ahead, Fitz. I want Castle to hear it all," she replies getting a squeeze in return. She's not sure that she's entirely comfortable with this scenario, but only because she's worried that she might have trouble sharing everything with Castle if she hears the news by herself.

"Good news first," Fitz replies while sounding somewhat subdued. "I've got Rogan's signature. As soon as I get back to the city and get the papers filed, you'll be single again."

"Fitz, that is fantastic news," Beckett says happily while shooting Castle a raised brow. Hours – that's that his objection boils down to. They'll be free in just hours. Why doesn't Castle look happier?

"Fitz, what happened? Are you okay?" Castle asks with concern.

"See, Detective?" Fitz replies with an effort to sound like his usual self. "Even over the phone I can't bluff him." After a pause during which neither replies, Fitz continues. "The morning started fine and he actually signed the paperwork without too much hassle. But he grew agitated when he saw something in the police station. When a deputy entered, he, ah, made his escape."

Afraid that she knows the answer that Castle already suspected, she asks "Did he hurt you?"

"I'll be fine," he replies bracingly while trying to sound tough. "Besides, my wife tells me that I'll look tough now."

"Oh, Fitz, I'm so sorry," Beckett says sympathetically. "What did he do to you?"

"Just a broken nose," Fitz says with false cheer. "It's my own fault – if I'd have worn a bow tie, he wouldn't have had anything to tug."

While Castle tries to cheer Fitz with predictions of how rugged he'll now look and what kind of outlandish stories they can invent to explain his nose, Beckett feels her anger ratcheting up. It's directed at herself, of course, since this all traces back to her abysmal behavior years ago. But, she's also furious with Rogan for harming this sweet older man who's been nothing but kind and helpful to her. Despite her earlier comments to Fitz, she'd very much like to see Rogan now, though she doesn't imagine that he'd like that very much.

"Kate," Castle says again, causing Beckett to realize that she'd tuned out for a bit. But, before he can continue, Fitz cuts in. "So, you're calling her 'Kate' now, eh?"

"Fifth Amendment, counselor," Castle replies glibly, provoking an eye roll and the return of Beckett's full attention to the conversation.

"As if I'll let you off that easily," Fitz ribs in return. "For now, though, more sobering advice. Kate, we don't know where Rogan is running. He might be going to ground, like we discussed. Or, he might be heading to you."

"What? Why would he come to me? We just burned our last bridge, didn't we?" Beckett replies with some concern.

"Sure, but he's got no reason to stay away now that all of his misdeeds are out in the open. In fact, if I were a betting man," Fitz pauses a moment to let Castle's huff of amusement pass, "I'd guess that he thinks that a friendly officer might be able to help him out."

"Why in the hell would he think I'd be _friendly_?" Beckett nearly shouts. "He caused me nothing but trouble back then, and it's even worse now!"

"True, but if you'll forgive my stereotyping, you know his type from your profession, I imagine," Fitz says, and Beckett's glad that he's relating this to her work rather than her personal history, "someone who's done well all his life by persuading those who ought to know better to repeatedly help him _just_ _one last time_."

"I'd hope that he'd know better than that," Beckett growls, "but, of course, I also would've hoped that he could spell my name correctly." This barb causes Castle's brows to rise comically and she knows she'll hear more about this later.

"Just be careful, please," Fitz says earnestly. "He disarmed a deputy when he made his escape, so he might still have a weapon on him."

"Fitz," Castle cuts in at this point, "as her attorney, what would you recommend that Kate do?"

Beckett's wondering about Castle's oddly formal request on her behalf until she hears Fitz's answer, after which she's convinced that Castle knew what the attorney would advise.

"Kate, I think you should do three things," Fitz picks up smoothly enough that she'd almost wonder if these two conspired to plan this conversation. "First, you need to contact your boss. Technically, Rogan's still your husband until this paperwork is filed. He's a criminal and a fugitive and he's on the move. That puts you in a compromised position for the short term."

Great, Beckett thinks. That'll be a fun conversation. She can almost hear the arch tone and disappointed looks already.

"Second," Fitz continues, "I think it would be … unwise … for you to have any contact with Rogan. You should go someplace where he can't find you easily and let the authorities – those not personally involved – take care of this. Once he's in custody again, you can talk with him, if you'd like."

"I don't know, Fitz," Beckett says, feeling a little dangerous. "I think I'd like to be the one who brings him in."

"I can appreciate that, Kate," Fitz says kindly, "but we both know that it would be better if you weren't involved. Everything else will be faster and cleaner if we keep the assault and brutality claims to a minimum."

"Third," Fitz continues quickly to cut off any rejoinder to his previous comment, "where does your dad live? Is it the same place he lived when you knew Rogan, or would Rogan be able to find him easily?"

"Yes … oh, no," Beckett says as she realizes the implication of Fitz's question.

"Oh yes, I'm afraid," Fitz replies. "If Rogan is the kind of guy who would seek you out, I'd not be surprised if he went through your father to find you. Would you like Rogan to explain his relationship with you to your father?"

"No," Beckett fires back immediately. "No, no, no." She's looking down, uncomfortable with the thought of facing Castle during this part of conversation. Expecting a ribbing she knows she's earned, she's surprised when rather than snort or tease, Castle instead moves to her side and uses a hand to gently rub her upper back in a sign of support.

"Then I think you and your father should have a talk, and I think you should encourage him to lie low while Rogan is located," Fitz advises. "Is there someplace where the two of you could retire for a bit?"

"Yeah," Beckett replies hesitantly. "We've got a cabin. He and I have been there when I've needed to hide and recover," she says, feeling herself tense up when her answer causes Castle to stop rubbing her back and take a small step away from her.

"Okay," Fitz replies. "Just make sure you stay in contact. Debbie is working with deputies to figure out where Rogan might run or what else he was into. I'm heading down to the city as soon as they fill my prescription. We'll be in touch. In the meantime, you'd better get moving – if he headed straight for you, he could be there in about a half-hour."

"I'll get moving," Beckett replies, a little numb. "But, Fitz? Please be careful," Beckett says, already feeling terrible about the injury he sustained on her behalf. As Fitz agrees and rings off, Beckett's left standing in Castle's kitchen with him beside her, whipsawed yet again and wondering what's next.

"Hey, Beckett," Castle nudges with a shoulder. When she turns her head to look at him he looks a little nervous. "I'm sure your cabin is beautiful, but would you consider staying here instead?"

"Castle, fifteen minutes ago you wouldn't kiss me. I think we're a long way from sleepovers," she replies, knowing that he's not likely to be put off.

"It's no good giving me trouble about that, Kate," Castle challenges in response. "I'm proud of it – how many people can claim to have put off a wanton Kate Beckett? And I won't be distracted by it," he continues quickly after noting Beckett's dangerous expression. "From what little you've told me, your cabin is remote, unsecure, and suffers from poor cell reception." She's about to object before he drops his most compelling argument. "And, since you've had it since you were a kid, he might know about it."

"I'd never have shared the cabin with him," Beckett says quietly, "but you're right, I wouldn't be surprised if he's found out about it. But, Castle, I need to protect my dad, too."

Rolling his eyes at this ridiculous objection, Castle states the obvious. "The offer was for both of you. Look," he says while still pleading his case. "Mother's in Los Angeles until Tuesday, so you can use her room and we can give your dad the extra room that you've used before. If you're uncomfortable, you can have my room, or the beach house, or we can find a nice hotel suite for you and your dad. But," he trails off while taking her hand in his, "I'd feel a lot better if you were close and I knew you were okay."

Using her thumb to play with his hand while she thinks about his offer, Beckett makes sure to take her time before replying. She's always been uncomfortable accepting help, but this is Castle: helping out is what he does and he knows far better than anyone else how self-sufficient she is. She'd be worried about the transition from flirting with the idea of a relationship to abruptly moving into his home, but her dad would be there, which should make sure that nothing happens too quickly. It's a wise strategic choice, too, considering that Castle's building is secure and his loft is far more hardened against intruders than would be a hotel suite.

"Castle…," she begins while still staring at their connected hands. Looking up, she sees that he's schooled his features to hide his disappointment if she turns him down. "Thank you," she says instead. "As long as dad is okay with this plan, we'll accept your very kind offer."

Castle's smile is one of pure delight. He's trying to tone it down, just in case she thinks he's reading too much into her acceptance, but he just can't help himself.

"Why don't you reach out to Gates and your dad, then we can run over to your place and get whatever you'd like?" Castle suggests.

"Let's go now," Beckett counters. "I can call from the car. I want to get things moving. But, can I make a request?"

"I promise I won't tease you about anything I hear, nor will I do anything to make you or your father uncomfortable," Castle avows in anticipation of her request.

"Thanks, Rick," Beckett replies happily. "That's not what I was going to ask, but it's very sweet." Upon hearing her use his first name _and _describe him as 'sweet,' Castle again looks ridiculously happy. It breaks her heart a little as Beckett realizes that such small compliments must be unusual and unexpected for him to place so much weight on them. "I was going to ask if I could make my explanations to dad at the loft? I should include Alexis, too – she deserves to know why her home is being invaded."

"Of course," Castle replies immediately. "What about Gates?"

"I'll ask her to meet me at the coffee shop – I _do not_ want to talk about this in the precinct," Beckett says with a shiver. "I want to tell you what's going on while we drive over to my place. You deserve to hear what's going on, and I don't want Gates or anyone else to hear before you do."

* * *

"Thank you for meeting with me, sir," Beckett says as Gates walks into the shop and approaches her table, on which a coffee already awaits.

"You made it sound like this was urgent," Gates replies, "and you piqued my interest by requesting a meeting out of the precinct. I take it all did not go well with your doctor or legal appointment?" she asks as she sits and with a thankful nod, takes a sip of coffee.

"My legal situation was difficult and has grown substantially worse," Beckett summarizes. "You asked on Monday if it might embarrass the precinct or compromise me. I'm afraid that either or both of those outcomes is looking more likely."

Coffee forgotten, Gates swivels her body to give Beckett her full attention. "You'd better explain, Detective. Although, and I ask this as a friend rather than a supervisor, should your union rep be a part of this conversation?"

Momentarily taken aback by Gates' reference to herself as a friend, Beckett moves forward on renewed hope. "No thank you, sir. I leave myself in your hands."

After a short pause, Beckett decides that a direct, terse summary is best. "When I was nineteen, I went to Vegas with a boyfriend. It turns out that what we thought was a drunken joke was instead a legally binding marriage. I was unaware of it until two weeks ago. I took your advice," Beckett fudges the timeline, "and asked Castle for help. His legal team discovered that my husband knew about the marriage the entire time. He's misfiled taxes and fraudulently claimed medical, charity, and disability benefits on behalf of himself and his comatose wife. Castle's legal team tracked him down, had him arrested, and secured his signature on the paperwork that will resolve my marriage as soon as it's filed. However, my 'husband' assaulted my attorney and a deputy and escaped custody with the deputy's service weapon. His whereabouts are currently unknown," she concludes.

Surprisingly, Gates doesn't blink an eye. "When will your legal papers be filed?"

"By the end of the day," Beckett replies. "My attorney should arrive in the city within an hour. He's headed straight in with the goal of confirming their receipt before five o'clock."

"What did he advise?" Gates asks, continuing her interrogation.

"First, that I tell you what's going on, including that the paperwork was not yet filed when Rogan escaped," she says to Gates' nod. "Second, that I shouldn't have any interaction with him if he turns up, and that I should take myself and my father some place where he's unlikely to find us until he's recaptured."

"Sound advice," Gates replies with a nod. "Do you plan to listen to it?" she asks with a raised brow.

"Yes," Beckett replies, hiding her annoyance. After all, they're here talking, right? So, she obviously accepted the first part of Fitz's advice. "My dad and I will be staying at Castle's loft in the short term."

"Is that wise?" Gates asks, though she doesn't elaborate on her question, leaving Beckett to wonder what particular concerns motivated the question.

"He has extra rooms, it will allow my father and I to stay together and in the city, the building is secure, and Castle's loft has additional security in place," Beckett replies.

"Wouldn't your … ex-husband … know about your connection to Mr. Castle?" Gates asks the question that's been bothering Beckett.

"Perhaps, though the press on Castle's consultant status with the precinct has stressed the professional nature of our connection," Beckett begins, again maybe stretching the truth. "At most, he'd think of Castle as a friend. But, even if he suspects that he could approach me through Castle, he won't be able to get to the loft. If this situation lasts more than a few days, we'll rethink, but this seemed like the best option that we could implement quickly." Since her talk with Castle, Beckett's admitted to herself that the main reason she accepted Castle's offer is because it means that he'll be there. He's proven himself to be her staunchest ally through this ordeal, even when she was fighting against it, and at this point she doesn't want to imagine going forward without him. But there is _no way_ she'll confide anything like that to Gates.

"I'm surprised Mr. Castle isn't part of this discussion," Gates replies.

"He offered to attend," Beckett confirms, "but thought it might make more sense to pick up my father and some groceries and other supplies. He's treating this whole thing like a hurricane or a blizzard – he's determined to buy provisions that will allow us to hole up until Rogan's recaptured. I suspect that by the time I arrive, the loft will be outfitted for a three-month siege."

Gates smiles at this, probably happy that Castle's antics are taking place outside of her precinct for once. "I'm glad he's helping," she allows. "Is there anything else?"

"No, sir," Becket replies. Then, in a lower voice, "I thought that was more than enough."

"Quite," Gates agrees. "Detective Beckett, do you have a backup weapon?"

"I do," Beckett confirms, knowing where this conversation is heading.

"That's good," Gates nods. "I need your service weapon and your badge. We've got to put you on administrative leave until at least until your marriage is resolved, if not until you ex-husband is captured. Your attorney's advice is very good – the only thing you should do if you see your ex-husband is to call it in. But, I'll feel better knowing that my best detective isn't defenseless while these issues resolve themselves."

"Thank you, sir," Beckett accepts the compliment while railing internally at the temporary loss of her badge, weapon, and legal authority. Nonetheless, she expected this and passes to her Captain the padded envelope into which she's already placed her weapon and badge.

"In addition," Gates says, catching Beckett's attention with her tone, "I'd like to meet with you and your attorney. We should talk about making sure we have documentation of your lack of awareness of your personal situation and your prompt action to resolve it. I want to make sure that a completely stupid, irresponsible, asinine, ludicrous indiscretion from your past doesn't impede your current career progress."

Eyebrows raised at her dressing down, Beckett can't help but reply. "I appreciate your focus on my career, sir. I'll talk to Mr. Fitzpatrick about getting together." She thinks the prospect of a meeting between Fitz and Captain Gates might provide some interesting possibilities. "He, ah, had similar comments about my situation. Fewer, but similar," Beckett says with a pointed look.

"In addition to being your boss, I'm also a mother," Gates explains. "You can't expect that I could just let this go without comment. And, I might have to use your situation as a warning to my children."

"My attorney said something similar to that, too," Beckett replies with a sigh.

* * *

Back in her familiar spot once more, Beckett raps on the door to Castle's loft with more confidence this time, ready for chemistry experiments or mayors. But not her father.

"Dad?" Beckett says as the door to the loft opens before her and he ushers her inside. "Where's Castle?"

"He went to pick up Alexis," Jim explains as he closes and locks the door behind her. "This is all very cloak and dagger. Your message was cryptic and Rick managed to talk a whole lot on the drive over without actually saying anything."

"Welcome to my world. That's a specialty of his," Beckett replies cheekily, though she switches gears when she can see that he's not buying the diversion. "I promise I'll tell you what's going on, dad, as soon as Alexis is here. You both deserve to hear it, and it's going to be difficult enough to get through it once."

"Okay, Katie," Jim says with a lighter tone. "I trust your judgment."

Marveling at her father's innate parental ability to heap on the guilt even unintentionally, Beckett wanders over to the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink, dad? Water, juice, coffee, tea?"

"No thanks," he smiles, "Rick already offered. So, is your comfort in Rick's lovely home part of what we'll be discussing?" her father asks with an inquisitive look and a lilt to his voice.

"That's a good question," Beckett replies, honestly. She hadn't planned to get into any descriptions of what she and Castle are thinking about embarking upon, mostly because it's been temporarily put on hold by the same developments that seem to have finally pushed them past the boundaries of friendship. "Not directly, but it's kind of all mixed up together," she answers, giving him as much truth as she's figured out.

Like a good attorney, her father is about to follow-up with another question, but he's preempted by the ringing of Beckett's cell. Hoping that it's Castle checking in (she shouldn't be nervous, right?), her disappointment is tempered by the identity of the caller.

"Fitz, are you okay?" Beckett replies as she answers the call. Raising a finger to her father to indicate that this should be a short call, Beckett leaves him in the living room and retreats to Castle's office. The privacy here is limited, though – those bookcases don't exactly stop sound. So, she positions herself next to the door to Castle's bedroom, figuring that she can dodge in if the call gets into sensitive subjects. She wants to tell her father the story, not have him piece it together from overheard snippets.

"I'm fine, Kate, thank you. Even better, so are you," Fitz says happily, through the stuffy, nasal tone created by his injury.

"Do you mean…," Beckett starts before pausing to make sure nothing is overheard.

"…that you're a happily single woman? Yes, indeed you are. The paperwork is filed and I have official copies for you and for your file. Congratulations!" he enthuses.

"Oh, Fitz, that's wonderful news. I'm sorry that it came at such cost to you, but I'm so thrilled to have this resolved," Beckett nearly gushes in her relief. "When you're feeling up for it, I'd like to take you and your wife out to dinner. I'll talk to Castle – maybe I can cook for all of you, or maybe we can go out. Whatever we work out, I'd really like to say thanks."

"Kate, you don't need to do that," Fitz says with a hint of embarrassment.

"But I want to," Beckett replies quickly. "Besides, I guess we're not quite out of the woods, yet."

"Your job?" Fitz asks, showing that a broken nose hasn't done anything to his ability to sniff out trouble.

"Right again," Beckett confirms. "My captain would like to meet with you. She thinks it would be a good idea to document my story in order to ensure that it's clear that I was unaware of the situation and that we took prompt action once it came to light – another thing for which I owe you thanks."

"Of course," Fitz says in reply. "I've been looking forward to meeting Captain Gates. Unless they find your _ex_-husband tonight, let's hold off on setting anything up for tomorrow. We'll see how things go over the weekend and talk about a meeting on Monday."

"That sounds great," Beckett replies. "Keep me posted and I'll do the same. In the meantime, put some ice on that nose and kick your feet up – you need a break."

"You don't have to tell me twice, detective," Fitz says happily. "I'll hold onto your paperwork and hand off your copy when next we meet. In the meantime, kick back, relax, and keep out of sight."

Laughing and ringing off, Beckett exits Castle's office to see that he and Alexis have arrived. They're all chatting in the kitchen and haven't yet noticed her return. She takes a moment to observe the interactions. There's the obvious comfort and affection between Castle and Alexis – the frequent looks, the solicitous gestures, and the touches of affection. But most of all, the look of pride that Castle can't quite hide. But there's also her father – he's relaxed and seems comfortable chatting with Castle and Alexis. She's caught off guard by the surge of emotion she feels at watching these three get along so well. Not wanting to break the scene, she's content to stand and watch.

All too soon, Castle's attentiveness to Beckett shows itself again as he looks up to check on her. Seeing her standing there and watching, Castle shoots her a quick smile and returns to the conversation, letting her enjoy the scene for a few more minutes.

Eventually, her father looks up and Alexis follows his attention until she's looking at Beckett, too. "Hi, Detective," Alexis smiles in greeting as Beckett approaches her father for a hug.

"Hi Alexis," Beckett smiles in return. "Good half-day at school?"

"It was," Alexis beams. "It turns out that one of my classmates is even worse at chemistry than dad is. He started a fire that closed the chem lab. So, dad ended up helping me after all," she says while casting her dad an exasperated but loving look.

"Just like always," Castle gloats. "Dads always know best, right Jim?"

"Absolutely," Jim replies while cutting a sly look at his daughter. Sharing an eye roll with Alexis, Beckett holds her tongue for the sake of male bonding. She should've known better.

"So, Katie, I think you were going to explain why we're all hiding out here?" her father says, bursting the quiet calm that Beckett had been carefully building. But there's no delaying this confession, so she nods and raises an arm toward the living room.

As Jim and Alexis move to seat themselves, Castle catches Beckett's arm and holds her back. "Is there any way I can help?" he asks earnestly, worried that she might react negatively but still willing to help her shoulder the load.

Suddenly, she realizes that she hasn't even shared her news with him. Here he is being supportive and he doesn't even know that Fitz has come through for them. Without warning, she launches herself into him and wraps him in a tight hug. His shock lasts only seconds before his arms wrap around her, though loosely – he's probably worried about displaying affection in front of their family or of her current marital status.

"Don't worry," she whispers as she raises her head, "I'm single."

"God bless Fitz," Castle replies as he holds her a little tighter.

"We'll pick this up later," Beckett says as she disengages from Castle, though she catches his hand in hers. Walking over to sit down with Castle in tow, she can't help the embarrassed blush that colors her cheeks.

"Is this what you wanted to talk to us about?" Alexis asks in a mock stern voice as she tries in vain to stifle a smile. "If so, I think Jim and I are going to need some private interviews to discuss your respective intentions."

Jim lets out a chuff of laughter, which causes Alexis to give up her attempt to look stern. Breaking out in a wide smile, she flops back into the sofa.

"No, Alexis," Beckett says with a smile while looking at where her hand is entwined with Castle's. "This is new – just starting, actually. As your dad mentioned this morning, it's been a chaotic two weeks. We, um, well, this is about as far as we've gone so far," she confesses as she raises their linked hands.

"Okay," Alexis replies, a little confused. "So, this goes back to my dad's comment about having done something he shouldn't have?"

"No. I'm the one who did something wrong," Beckett admits, then stalls out. She's having trouble getting started until she feels Castle squeeze her hand. He's still here, she reminds herself. He knows me at my worst – which has been on full display this week – and he's still here. Maybe this won't be so bad.

"Dad, before I get started, I need you to know how sorry I am, how ashamed of myself I am. I'm finally getting used to what happened, but you won't believe it," Beckett fumbles.

"Katie," Jim interrupts. "You're not making much sense and you're scaring me a little. Just tell me what's going on."

Taking a deep breath, Beckett takes a look around the loft and then at Alexis and her father. Chagrined, she realizes that this is exactly what Castle did back when this all started and he was about to break the news of her marriage to her – he took a long look around to fasten the memory of the old regime before haring ahead. She gives his hand a squeeze and jumps into the conversation.

"You'll remember my teen rebellion years all too well, dad, even all these years later," Beckett starts and her father is already nodding vigorously. "I played the wild child, I taunted you and mom, and I reveled in my own cleverness. I know you took issue with some of the boys I dated – that was the point," she confesses.

"Alexis, I need you to ignore this part," Castle cuts in to lighten the moment, prompting a mumbled "Good luck" from Jim.

"I didn't grow out of my rebellion immediately when I left for college. I met a boy there who capped them all, dad – worse than anyone you ever met," Beckett admits while her dad just shakes his head. "He was a bad-boy, an outsider. We dated on and off, depending on his reliability and occasional disappearances." Beckett looks at Alexis and is dismayed to see the same attentive look she wore this morning when Beckett was talking about her mom. It hurts, seeing that same look and knowing where this story is going. She wants Alexis to save that look for good things, not for this mess.

"We went to Vegas," Beckett continues. "It was a wild trip – lots of drinking, lots of dancing, some fighting, too. But the worst part didn't become apparent until two weeks ago." This sudden jump from teenage Beckett to current day has both Alexis and Jim confused. It's time to jump in, Beckett admits to herself.

"It turns out that when we were in Vegas, we went to a drive-through chapel," Beckett begins. The synchronized widening of eyes from both Alexis and Jim would be comical under better circumstances. At present, though, Beckett can't take it so she looks down and takes comfort in speaking to where her hand grasps Castle's. "We thought it was a joke. At least, I did. Rogan and I broke up for the last time just a few days after that trip. Aside from self-pity and maybe congratulating myself on growing up, I hadn't thought about him for years."

"It turns out, though, that the marriage was legal. This came out just two weeks ago. I'd been married since I was nineteen and had no idea. To say that I was shocked, appalled, _mortified_ would be an understatement. Castle – Rick offered to help. Even knowing how poorly I'd react, he offered to help," she says affectionately as she watches her thumb stroke Castle's hand.

"Rick's attorney tracked Rogan down. It turns out that he didn't outgrow his bad-boy days. He's a criminal – he's built a whole fraudulent business around the wife he lost to a coma after a car accident. Medicaid claims, charity, false taxes – he's looking at serious charges that will end up with many years of prison time," Beckett concludes. She doesn't sound vindictive, just tired of this story.

Still looking down, Beckett's anxious to bring this to a conclusion. "Rick's legal team helped orchestrate Rogan's arrest last night. With him in custody, we got his signature on the forms that resolved our ridiculous marriage. After he signed the forms, though, he assaulted my attorney Fitz and a deputy and escaped. He's on the run, and Fitz thinks he might try to find me, or go to you if he can't find me," she says as she finally looks up to gauge her father's reaction.

He looks a little shell-shocked, not surprisingly. "So, you're not married?" Jim asks, trying to catch up and resolve this new information with his conception of his daughter.

"No," Beckett agrees. "Whatever sham of a marriage happened in Vegas so long ago was resolved with the paperwork that was filed today."

"Good, good," Jim mumbles, though he still looks a bit off. Hoping that she's handling the news better, Beckett turns to Alexis.

Beckett doesn't recognize the look that Alexis is giving her. The closest comparator is Dr. Burke at his stoic best. While Beckett tries to understand what Alexis is thinking, Castle's daughter begins to speak.

"So," Alexis says, "you've been married the entire time my father's known you?"

"Yes," Beckett answers clearly, wanting to provide Alexis with whatever information she wants. "But …"

"And Fitz got hurt helping you?" Alexis continues, cutting over Beckett.

"Yes," Beckett replies, providing a short answer to avoid breaking the flow of Alexis' questions.

"And now you're hiding from your _husband_ by staying here," Alexis says.

"Yes," Beckett replies again, even though it wasn't a question this time. Since clarifying that Rogan is no longer her husband isn't likely to improve Alexis' mood, Beckett decides to wait quietly for her next question.

"I see," Alexis says in response. Then, rather than ask any more questions, she stands from the couch and retreats to her room upstairs without uttering another word.

* * *

A/N2: As always, many thanks for the notes and the follows. I'm hoping to get the next chapter up around this time next week.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Down below.

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* * *

The ripples in the tub mirror Beckett's state of mind – sometimes turbulent, meandering, and occasionally overlapping. As she sits in the overly floral excess of Martha's bathroom, she thinks back to Castle's offer of his own tub. It's probably massive and decadent, but she turned him down. He likely thinks it's because of her father's presence in the loft, but that's not the reason she demurred. She's too embarrassed to admit it to him yet, but that tub has starred in many of her own daydreams and she wasn't alone in any of them. Beckett's still holding out hope that the first time she makes use of it, Castle won't be honorably containing himself in another room.

The fact that they haven't returned to their near kiss is also weighing on her. Since she's decided that she's ready to dive in with him, she's been anxious to jump. Just when the inconvenient matter of her marriage was resolved, Alexis' unexpected reaction to her explanation put a damper on the evening. Not that anyone else would know how deeply that reaction disturbed Castle.

Castle reminded her today that he's a gifted entertainer and host – he managed to smooth over any potential discomfort while treating her father and her to a wonderful dinner. It was a delicious meal that was conspicuously set for three rather than four. While they ate, Castle regaled them with anecdotes from his book tours, but he also took particular care to engage with her father and draw him out in conversation. As she noticed earlier today, there's a surprising connection between them. Her father's never really known or interacted with any of her romantic partners, and she's still surprised by how happy she is that he and Castle seem to be building a friendship.

The topic of Alexis' reaction only arose once, when her father questioned the number of place settings for dinner. Saying only that Alexis would eat later, Castle tried to sidestep the awkwardness. Though no one challenged his explanation, Castle either decided himself that it was insufficient or picked up on some non-verbal cue from Beckett or her dad. With a couple simple lines, Castle defused the situation and gave her new insight into his relationship with Alexis.

"She's having trouble adjusting to this situation," Castle explained. "This is how we work – she'll think about it and we'll talk later. It's a deal we have – I don't push her to talk before she's ready, and she promises to come to me when she's prepared to talk."

After taking a break to serve himself some of the wonderful meal he whipped up while chatting, Castle finished his explanation. "Have you heard that relationship rule about never going to bed while angry?" he asked rhetorically. "We don't believe in that here. We'll talk whenever she's ready, and that talk might make us angry. But, we're always honest with each other. That way, at least we know what we're fighting about. I'll take honest anger any day if it means that we're on the same page. Because we can always find our way through if we're facing the challenge together."

Castle followed that explanation with an anecdotal example of a disagreement that he and Alexis had fought many years ago, when she thought he was being too lax as a parent and pushed him to create a series of punishments for infractions that both of them knew she'd never commit. Of course, Castle being Castle, the punishments turned into a bizarre tangle of consequences that would encourage more of the same kind of behavior that would have warranted punishment in the first place. It was what she's come to think of as a quintessential Castle story – funny, self-deprecating (despite his ego), and effective at completely diverting attention. And it worked exactly as he'd planned – that conversation led to others, so that only minutes later any awkwardness about Alexis was long forgotten as a topic of discussion.

But he can't hide from her nearly so well anymore. Their years together and the dimensions of his personality that she's seen in the last few weeks give her a keen insight into her partner. She can see that he's hurting, anxious and troubled by whatever is bothering Alexis. As a father, he's worried for his daughter. As a man, he's worried about what her reaction means for the relationship he wants with Beckett.

Pulling the drain in the tub as she stands to dry off, Beckett decides that she needs to go talk to Castle. The poor guy is taking such good care of them, but he could use some cheering up himself. Slipping into demure flannel pajamas after wringing her hair dry and giving it some cursory brushes, she pads to the stairwell after pausing at the door to the spare room to see that the lights are off and her father must be asleep. Alexis' door, of course, is still closed.

Beckett's halfway down the stairs before she hears Castle's voice issuing from his office. If he's on the phone, she'll just get a glass of water and camp out on the couch until he wraps up. Maybe she'll even let him talk her into some ridiculous ice cream creation before bed. It'll be worth some extra time on the treadmill just to make him smile.

She's on the second-to-bottom step when it's Alexis' voice that she hears. She freezes in place, wondering if she should quietly pad back upstairs or make some extra noise in the kitchen to ensure that they know she's here. Torn between the two options, she ends up locked in place.

"… think she's taking advantage of you. Again. And you're just letting her do it. I can't believe that I encouraged you to give her a chance after lunch today. It's like mom and Gina all over again," Alexis spits out. Beckett's sitting on the steps before she realizes it, knees knocked out both by the accusation and by the tone of loathing that she never would have imagined coming out of Alexis.

"Honey, you know that's not true," Castle replies, sounding remarkably calm.

"How is it not?" Alexis fires back. "She left you, dad. _She left you_. Then, she waltzes back in months later and tells you something that makes _you_ go crawling back. I don't think it was an apology, because you were still so angry, but you went back."

"She was hurt," Castle replies. "She'd just seen a hero, a father figure, gunned down and then she was shot. Do I wish she'd handled things differently? Absolutely. But, she's my friend. She needed time before she needed help."

"And how much thought did she give to what you needed?" Alexis asks, pressing her point.

"When she could think about anything other than the searing pain, the inability to stand or sleep, and the shadow of someone trying to kill her, she came to me," Castle replies. Beckett marvels at how calm he is and the readiness of his explanations. It makes her wonder how many times he's already had this conversation with himself.

"Yeah, she came to you with some _assignment_," Alexis sneers. "You offered nothing but support and you had to earn your way back in!"

"She didn't know anything about that project," Castle replies quickly, sounding less sure of himself. He must not have been aware that Alexis had noticed his efforts after Mr. Smith's contact.

"But was it for her?" Alexis pushes.

"Yes, it was," Castle confirms. "It was something that would help keep her safe." Beckett finds herself holding her breath, hoping that Alexis doesn't realize that Castle was putting himself in harm's way to buy her the time she needed to heal.

"She didn't know about it," Alexis repeats instead, probably thinking about how Castle worked on his 'project' in the loft rather than the precinct. "So, you were doing something on her behalf but you had to hide it from her?"

"She knows about the project now," Castle answers, implicitly acknowledging that Beckett was out of the loop when he started.

"And was she thankful?" Alexis asks with a false tone of cheer. "Did she appreciate your efforts on her behalf?" Her voice returning to its previous tone, she continues. "Or did she yell at you? Criticize the way you handled it? Or maybe she just accepted your effort as her due tribute?"

Beckett feels each of these questions like a slap in the face. She's known that Alexis was a bit uncomfortable with her lately and assumed, rightly it seems, that it's lingering anger about the shooting at Roy's funeral and how she handled her recovery. But the vitriol in these words far exceeds anything she had expected. And the worst part is that she can't really deny the charges or Alexis' reasons for making them.

But apparently Castle can. "Honey," he says in a placating tone. "My project dipped into sensitive issues that she's told me not to mess with. I don't blame her for being angry – I always knew she would be. But, sometimes we need to do what we can to protect the people we care about regardless of the consequences."

"I get that, Dad, I really do," Alexis replies, her own tone growing earnest. "What I don't understand is why you have to be the one who always gets hurt or who isn't appreciated. You never try to protect yourself and I don't understand why."

"I'm a big boy, Alexis, regardless of how I sometimes behave," he says with what Beckett imagines to be his signature smirk. "I can take it."

"But you shouldn't have to!" Alexis reacts immediately. "You always pick women who don't treat you well and then you let them treat you poorly. You deserve more. You deserve better."

"Hey, easy there," Castle pushes back gently. "I'm not a doormat, honey, and I'm not sure I entirely appreciate being characterized that way."

"But you are, in a way," Alexis disagrees. Apparently talking quickly to explain herself before Castle cuts her off, Alexis launches into her explanation. "Think about mom and Gina and tell me this – if it hadn't been for me, when would you have left?"

"What do you mean?" Castle asks, finally taken off script by his daughter's questions.

"I know what happened between you and mom, at the end," Alexis says in a low voice that Beckett can barely hear. "She assumed that I knew and talked to me about it. She didn't apologize," Alexis says with a disgusted huff, "just wanted to try to rationalize her behavior. I also know why you married Gina, and what led to the end – both times. With each of them you pushed things to the end because you were worried about me. Why weren't you worried about you?"

"Because you're the one who matters," Castle answers honestly. She doesn't know about Alexis, but Beckett can feel her own tears cascade down her cheeks.

"No, Dad! _You_ matter. _You_ deserve to be happy, to have someone who makes you happy and treats you well," Alexis objects. "And I deserve better, too," she says, causing Beckett to imagine a sudden inhalation and look of confusion on Castle's face. "I'm a kid, dad. I'm not a barometer for abuse. More than that, I need to know that you're safe. I'm going to be gone soon – how am I supposed to move on when I'm worried that without me around, you'll see no reason to get out of a bad situation?"

"Hey, come here," Castle answers. Beckett can only too easily picture the hug that's probably taking place in the office. "I watch out for myself, you know," Castle says. With the two of them presumably standing close, his voice is lower and more difficult to hear. But Beckett unabashedly strains herself to hear the conversation. "But I will admit that my threshold for what harms you is much lower than for myself. It's my prerogative as a dad, and I promise you this – it will never, ever change."

After a pause during which Beckett imagines another hug, Castle resumes in a more chiding tone. "And don't worry about me. You don't get to look out for me until I'm old and feeble. Yes, fine, don't say it. Just add an E-R to both of those adjectives. You know what I mean."

"It's not that easy, Dad," Alexis says, loud enough that she must have stepped away. "We've looked out for each other for my whole life and that will never, ever change," she says, repeating his vow.

"I know, honey, I know," Castle concedes. "But, really, I'll be okay. You might not be on board, but I'm excited about the prospect of exploring something meaningful with Kate. It's something that I've wanted for a long time."

"But why now?" Alexis asks. Something in her look or her voice must have caught Castle's attention, because Beckett recognizes his inquisitive tone from their many interactions on the job.

"Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you about this?" Castle suggests.

"It's just – she's not a reward, and that's what this seems to be. She did something stupid, you bailed her out, so you get what – a kiss and some handholding? That's not right," Alexis tries to explain. "It just seems like this is only happening because you helped her out of an embarrassing situation. That's too transient for a solid relationship."

"You really are a wonder, you know that?" Castle asks, clearly happy with her effort to articulate her concerns. "But, I think you're wrong for two reasons."

"This should be interesting," Alexis replies with a note of doubtful indulgence. "Go ahead – what's the first?"

"This thing between Beckett and I has been building for years," Castle starts, and Beckett's warmed by how confident he sounds. "I think you've seen this, too. You might be right that recent events hastened things a little, but I think we would've found a way to each other within the year. So, from a purely selfish perspective, despite the hell that Beckett's had to endure over the past few weeks, I'm glad things happened this way. The sooner she found out about her situation, the better, and if it helped spur us along, that's great."

"Maybe …," Alexis replies, clearly thinking about her father's confidence in working things out with Beckett and whether she knows enough to wonder if it's justified. "What's the second thing?"

"I think," Castle begins hesitantly, "that there's something else that's bothering you about Beckett's situation. Something that doesn't really involve me."

This time, Alexis is the one being taken off script. "What do you mean?"

"I think you're feeling guilty and betrayed," he answers in a kind voice. "And I think you're blaming Beckett for those uncomfortable feelings."

"This isn't about me!" Alexis replies sharply, clearly feeling aggrieved.

"Come on, Pumpkin, I heard you out – at least consider what I have to say," Castle replies evenly. "I know you, Alexis. I've watched you watch Beckett. I've seen the conflicted feelings take root. I know you've been upset with her about my safety and about how you think I've been treated, especially after her shooting," he says, and Beckett feels even worse knowing that Castle recognized his daughter's concerns and said nothing. "But I also know that despite your concerns, you admire Beckett for her strength, her effectiveness, and the respect she commands at the precinct."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Alexis replies in a voice nearly inaudible to Beckett.

"You don't need to be sorry, Alexis," Castle says with a laugh. "Trust me, no one knows what a maddening mix of emotions Beckett can incite better than I do! You don't need to feel guilty – I've always said that she's extraordinary and I believe it more today than I did when I wrote _Heat Wave_. Recognizing the good in her doesn't mean that you're overlooking the things that bother you."

"It's just that …," Alexis trails off.

"Go ahead, honey. Say it," Castle encourages.

"I want to hate her, sometimes," Alexis confesses, forcing Beckett to revise her earlier opinion that she couldn't feel any worse about herself. "But I can't," Alexis continues. "Just when I think I can let go and write her off, she'll do something kind, or tear apart some chauvinist, or run rings around the others in the precinct."

"Present company excluded," Castle cuts in, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, Dad, you're not a chauvinist," Alexis replies while purposefully not addressing her 'running rings' comment.

"Ingrate," Castle teases in return. "I think you're being too harsh on Kate, but I'm also glad that you're wrestling with this. Whatever you do in your life, you're going to run into all different types. We people are a complicated mess of contradictions, and you're going to have to figure out how to reconcile the different aspects of someone's personality in order to lead them effectively. You're not going to have people who are all good."

"I have you," Alexis replies with a simple objection.

"Oh, honey, you know that's not true," Castle replies with an affectionate sigh. "I'm immature, impetuous, egotistical, and vain. And that just gets us to breakfast on an ordinary day," Castle says with a chuckle. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be all good – can you imagine how boring that would be?"

"I guess," Alexis replies, still a little troubled by the nature of this discussion. "Is this what you meant when you said I felt guilty and betrayed?"

"In part," Castle replies. "I think you're feeling the tension between being upset with Beckett on the one hand while admiring her on the other. Because you don't like her treatment of me, not entirely fairly, you're feeling a little guilty."

"So, where does the betrayal come in? You've never made me worry about your affection for me," Alexis says proudly. Beckett envies her confidence in his affections.

"And I never will," Castle declares. "I'm not the one who betrayed you – Beckett is. But, I'm just as guilty."

Flummoxed as she sits on the step, Beckett can only imagine that Alexis is just as confused by this accusation as she is.

"I think," Castle explains when Alexis doesn't respond, "that your admiration of Kate makes you feel a certain affinity for her. You respect her decision to attend Stanford, her ability to adjust and excel in the precinct after suffering a terrible personal tragedy. You admire her strength, her confidence, and her beauty. And I know that you've thought about what she's been able to accomplish without a mother figure in her life," Castle trails off, knowing that the hole in their nuclear family is something he accepts as his failure.

"I think," he continues, "that you've sometimes thought of yourself as a younger version of her, capable of doing as well or even better. But now you've learned about her past and you're struggling to reconcile wanting to end up in the same place given that at your age, she was someone you wouldn't have respected or even liked."

The silence that follows gives both Alexis and Beckett time to think about Castle's theory. Beckett realizes that she's never thought about what she would've thought about Alexis if she met her back then. She's abashed to realize that she probably would've dismissed Alexis as an uptight daddy's girl, someone who didn't know how to have fun because she never broke the rules. Certainly the thought that in less than two years Alexis could follow in her footsteps by running off to Vegas to get drunk and hitched seems beyond comprehension.

"If I'm right," Castle starts again, filling the silence, "then I need to encourage you to let it go. Form your opinion on what you see now. Because, honey? I'd hate for you to judge me the same way. If you'd met me when I was 19 – well, let's just say that I was a mess and you would _not_ have found me someone to befriend or respect. Kate made a dumb mistake when she was 19. She's hardly the only one. I know we joke about it, but I wouldn't mind if you made a few more mistakes. Just maybe try not to surpass Beckett in this respect, okay?"

"I'll try, Dad," Alexis replies with a watery chuckle. "It's just so confusing sometimes. Can you point to anyone we know whose mistakes were somewhat limited?"

"That's a good question, if we're taking Beckett off the list," Castle admits with a chuckle. "I was never on the list to begin with, and Mother, well – you can't tell her that I said this, but as responsible as you are compared to me? That's how responsible I was compared to Mother."

"Now you're just exaggerating," Alexis flatly objects. "That's just not possible."

"Says you," Castle replies confidently. "There's a reason you have straight hair – if I even hinted at those stories it would be curled into tight spirals. It's too bad Beckett's mom isn't around – I always got the impression that she was a fantastic woman. She strikes me as someone who got the balance right. Maybe Jim could help us out."

Oh, god, she's crying again, Beckett realizes. This whole conversation has been overwhelming, veering from Alexis' disappointment in her to Castle's resolute faith. And then he hits her with his reverence for her mother and his willingness to reach out to her father. It's just too much. Besides, it sounds like their conversation might be coming to an end. She doesn't want them to catch her sitting on the stairs. As stealthily as she's ever moved, Beckett rises quietly and steals back upstairs to Martha's room where she's sure that sleep will elude her this evening.

* * *

As she's climbing into bed with book in hand a few minutes later, Beckett hears Alexis return to her room. Glad that she left when she did, she's still congratulating herself when a quiet knock on her door catches her attention. As she rises to answer the door, Beckett finds herself hoping that it's not Alexis. She's not sure she's up for that conversation yet.

As she opens the door to see Castle standing outside, she gives him a small, shy smile. While he had looked a little nervous, her warm greeting seems to have calmed him down.

"Will you come downstairs?" he asks politely. It's his look toward Alexis' room that catches her attention, though, so she nods and follows him down the hallway.

They've just started to walk down the stairs when he asks "How much did you hear?"

She's too shocked to reply immediately, wondering how he knew. As they approach the bottom of the stairs, he points to the fourth step, where some of the drops from her wet hair fell to the ground rather than the back of her pajamas.

She's about to answer his question when he chimes in. "The second step from the top squeaks, too. I didn't hear you come down, but I heard you go back up. Just for future reference."

"Anything else?" Beckett asks, chagrined.

"Your scent," Castle confirms while giving an exaggerated sniff. "It's stronger after a bath and I noticed it around the stairs when I walked Alexis back to her room."

"That's creepier than staring, Castle," Beckett replies, more in an attempt at banter than to seriously push him off.

"Hey, I hang out with three detectives. I'd have hoped that you'd be happy about me honing my observational skills."

"Not for using them against _me,_" Beckett replies good naturedly as Castle ushers her into his office, making a point of leaving the door open. He's acting quite the gentleman with her father in the loft, she thinks with a small smile.

"Back to the scene of the crime?" she asks, readying herself for a well-justified dressing down for her eavesdropping.

"There was no crime, Kate," Castle says calmly. "I'm not sure how much you heard, but I didn't say anything that I regret. It might be a bit early – after all, we _still _haven't managed our first real kiss," he says with a pointed look, "but I was honest in my talk with Alexis."

"I didn't mean to overhear," Beckett says, still feeling guilty. "I was just trying to decide about whether to go back upstairs or make some noise when Alexis said that I was taking advantage of you and compared me to Meredith and Gina. It just kind of knocked me down and I … stayed."

"It's okay," Castle says as he leans over and kisses her cheek before ushering her to his stuffed leather chair. Pulling his desk chair around, he takes her hands in his sits right in front of her. "I just wanted to see if you had any questions or concerns about what you heard."

Beckett chuffs out a hollow laugh. "No questions, but plenty of concerns," she admits. "Most of which revolve around two issues – how can we go forward if your daughter hates me so much, and why don't you hate me more."

"This isn't a pity party, Beckett," Castle replies while rolling his eyes. "Alexis doesn't hate you. She's confused by you. And that's okay. Give her a little time – she really does admire you. She let her concern for me get in the way and that's got her a little tied up right now. She'll work through it. Trust me: as much as it shames me, I've put her through worse."

"Those are hardly words of consolation, Castle," Beckett huffs in response. She regrets the position she's put Alexis into, but she's also relieved to hear that Castle thinks they can get past it.

"And as for me, you know I don't hate you," he says. "I'll confess to occasional frustration or irritation, but that's about it," he says with a coy smile.

"But maybe you should," Beckett replies, not taking the bait. "Alexis wasn't far off with many of the things she had to say."

"Neither was I when I replied," Castle says simply. "I'll say it again, Kate – I'm looking forward to exploring something meaningful with you. We shouldn't jump into anything tonight, but we won't be so brittle after a little rest."

"You're too good to me, you know," Beckett replies quietly.

"I'm as good as I want to be," Castle replies. "I know you heard Alexis tell me that I deserve to be happy. You do, too. Who knows? Maybe I can be the one to make you happy," he says with a hopeful smile.

"Of course you are," Beckett says simply.

After staring at their hands for a moment, Beckett musters her courage for a simple, silly request.

"Rick?" she asks, letting his given name roll off her tongue. "I agree that we're too … raw … to explore anything tonight, but would a hug be okay?"

"Of course it would be," he laughs as he stands, using their linked hands to help pull her up. Before she can blink, she's engulfed in a full Castle hug, not the hesitant version she enjoyed before confessing to her father and Alexis. It feels wonderful.

"You're soaked," he murmurs as he runs a hand across her upper back, where her wet hair lies atop her pajamas. "How can your top be this damp when your hair is still wet?" he asks. Men, Beckett thinks. The things they don't understand.

But, yet again, she's underestimated Castle. "Wait here," he says gently as he disengages and enters his bedroom. He's back a few moments later with a brush in one hand and hairdryer in the other.

"Thanks, Castle, but I'm too tired to bother tonight," Beckett sighs.

Ignoring her, Castle plugs in the hairdryer and perches on the edge of the leather chair's seat. Patting the space between his legs, Castle encourages Beckett to sit on the floor in front of him. "Come on, Kate. If you're anything like Alexis, you hate sleeping with wet hair. Just have a seat, lean back, and let me take care of you."

Refusing to talk herself out of this, Beckett slides over and sits on the floor, putting her back against the chair between Castle's legs. Though she didn't see where it came from, Castle starts by rubbing her hair with a towel. His touch is surprisingly light but sure. Beckett stifles a moan as he massages her scalp through the towel. This is perfect, she realizes as she relishes the feel of his touch: they may be too fragile to jump into romance tonight, but this quiet, soothing intimacy is a perfect way to get more comfortable with each other.

Exchanging the towel for the brush, Castle gently works it through her hair before picking up the dryer in his other hand. She's never going to a salon again, Beckett impulsively decides, as Castle slowly sets about his work.

Ten blissful minutes later, Castle turns off the dryer and places it on the floor beside his chair. Neither of them want to move, happy to bask in the closeness and the sudden quiet of the loft. Just as Beckett's starting to acknowledge the need to move, Castle's hands fall on her shoulders. Almost of their own accord they begin to squeeze and stroke, starting a massage that has Beckett closing her eyes as her head falls forward. Castle's even better at this than he was with her hair. Forget the salon, she's never leaving this room again.

Some indefinable time later, Castle's hands finally still. His ministrations seem to have disconnected her muscles altogether, as she lacks the power to lift her head or her arms.

"Come on, beauty," Castle says as he stands and steps over Beckett. "Time to walk you to your door."

With herculean effort, Beckett flops her head to the side just enough to look up at Castle. "Do I hafta?" she whines.

"'Fraid so," Castle says with a huff. "You'll undo all my careful work if you sleep on the floor. Up you get," he says as he gently takes her hands and pulls her to her feet. Beckett lets the momentum carry her into Castle, hugging him to keep herself upright and to share some of the comfort he's given her. How unbelievable, she thinks, that she's gone from the turmoil of the overheard conversation to feeling so relaxed and revered.

As they break apart, Beckett holds tight to Castle's upper arm. They slowly make their way through the loft and up the stairs, until they pause at the door to Martha's room.

"Goodnight, love," Castle says as he drops a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Goodnight, Rick," she replies with one hand covering his heart and the other on the back of his neck. With a chaste kiss to his lips, she rubs his cheek and smiles. "Sweet dreams."

With a smile, Castle steps away. Beckett closes the door, though not all the way. Stopping by the bathroom to quickly inspect Castle's handiwork, she grins as she sees that her hair looks as good as Castle's ministrations felt. Looking forward to when his touch will leave her hair a sweaty mess, she makes her way to bed.

* * *

With a yawn and a ferocious stretch, Beckett finally comes all the way awake. She feels fantastic – well-rested, relaxed, and loose. That shoulder and neck massage lifted weight from her shoulders that she didn't realize she was carrying. With her relaxed muscles and the warm optimism she holds close, she's anxious to start the day. Cleaning herself up quickly, she's nearly bouncing down the stairs within minutes.

"It's like your teenage years all over again," her father says with a laugh. He's sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, coffee in hand and newspaper spread before him. "I guess my watch doesn't work anymore?"

Confused for a moment, Beckett pulls back her sleeve. She just put the watch on, but hadn't really bothered to check the time. She's shocked to see that it's just past 10:30. Nearly twelve hours! She can't remember the last time she slept that long. Maybe it was her teenage years.

"Good morning, dad," Beckett says with a tone of indulgence as she gives him a hug. Then, surprising even herself, she walks around the island to where Castle stands before the stove, preparing to cook brunch now that she's awake.

"Good morning, Castle," she says as she steps in front of him and extends her arms through his and pulls him tight. Castle looks so happy at this greeting that if she were willing to look away from his face, she's sure that she'd see that he's levitating above the floor.

As Beckett turns her head, she catches sight of Alexis. Castle's daughter had paused on her way out of the office, arrested by the sight of her father and Beckett. Alexis catches Beckett's glance for a moment before returning her focus to her father's face. That triangle – Castle's entranced gaze at Beckett, Beckett's assessing look at Alexis, and Alexis' observation of Castle's happiness – continues for a few moments until Alexis resumes her walk to the kitchen. Here we go, Beckett thinks.

"Good morning, Detective," Alexis says carefully. Try as she might, Beckett can't detect any particular emotion or message in her tone. Perhaps she's treading lightly, too, thinking about the conversation she had with her father last night.

"Good morning, Alexis. I'd nearly forgotten – you've got another half-day today, right?" she asks as she takes the cup of coffee Castle offered and wanders around to take the seat next to her father.

"That's right," Alexis confirms as she enters the kitchen and perches on the counter next to where her father is at work with what looks like French toast. There's something in the oven, too. Beckett can't quite figure out what it is from the smell, but it's making her stomach growl. "As long as the warden here lets me leave, that is," she says while cutting a faux annoyed look at her father.

"Director," Castle replies happily while slicing bread. "The head of an asylum is called a Director, not a Warden," he clarifies.

"Says the man with asylum experience," his daughter replies cheekily.

"Either way," Castle says with an eye roll, "I still don't understand why you don't just stay home today. You've got a fabulous, _legitimate_ excuse to skip out."

"Dad, I have exams coming up," Alexis says primly. Beckett hopes that this is the reason, though she wouldn't blame Alexis if she's pushing to attend school just to get out of the loft for a while. "I can't afford to fall behind now. Besides," she says with a smirk, "you're just looking for another vote for when you suggest a movie marathon later. What if I told you that I'd only cede my vote to Detective Beckett if I stayed?"

"Have a good day at school, dear," Castle says meekly, prompting a laugh from Jim.

What follows is a surprisingly pleasant brunch. If not boisterous, Alexis is at least engaged in the conversation, careful to ensure that Jim is included in the conversation. For her part, Beckett decides that following Castle's advice is the best way forward – she'll give Alexis whatever time she needs to think about the discussion with her father. All Beckett can do is avoid making things awkward and show Alexis that her concerns are no longer warranted. It's a tall order, but also a good reminder that she affects others beyond Castle.

As they're cleaning up, Alexis breaks off to collect her school things. "How's Alexis getting to school?" Beckett asks Castle.

"The precinct is sending someone over," Castle says, sounding surprised himself. "Gates called and offered this morning," he says with a smirk. There's something about his look that piques her interest.

"Wait a minute," Beckett says brusquely. "What did you tell her?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Castle replies as his smirk blossoms into a devilish smile.

"_Please_ tell me you didn't say anything embarrassing when she called," Beckett begs.

"How would that be any fun?" Castle replies, trying to look truly confused.

"And, we're back to our conversation about getting punched," Beckett growls.

"Better not," Castle says conspiratorially. "Your dad might see. I wouldn't want you to get grounded."

Beckett's retort is cut off by a sharp knock at the door. Grabbing her backpack, Alexis steps up to the door and peers through the peephole. "It's an officer," she announces.

She's just begun to open the door when a sharp push from the other side knocks her back. The officer darts into the room before turning and shoving the door closed quickly, peering through the peephole as if concerned that someone was following him. Seemingly satisfied that there is no immediate threat, he sets the lock before he turns to face those in the loft.

"Kit Kat," he says with relief, "thank god I found you. I need your help."

* * *

A/N2: Many thanks for all the comments and PMs on this story. Like Aalon's Forty-Seven, this story was posted from a hospital room. I'm hoping that the next chapter will be ready by about this time next week, but it'll depend on how things go. More ASAP…


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Down below.

.

_She's just begun to open the door when a sharp push from the other side knocks her back. The officer darts into the room before turning and shoving the door closed quickly, peering through the peephole as if concerned that someone was following him. Seemingly satisfied that there is no immediate threat, he sets the lock before he turns to face those in the loft._

"_Kit Kat," he says with relief, "thank god I found you. I need your help."_

* * *

He looks rough, like an image that's been copied too many times. The old good looks are there, but worn down by his lifestyle. The shock of seeing him after all these years stops Beckett short. For about three seconds.

"_Get out_," Beckett seethes in a low, dangerous voice as she stands and steps toward Rogan. Castle's on the move, too, she sees in her peripheral vision. She can't tell if he's moving to comfort Alexis or to interpose himself between his daughter and Rogan, but she's pleased with his reaction either way.

"Hey, wifey," Rogan says in a smooth tone with a wave, going for charm. "Where's my tearful reunion hug?" he says through what he must think is his most winning smile.

"_Gross_," Alexis shudders in disgust before Beckett can reply, blindsiding Rogan who looks at her quickly with a furrowed brow. When he turns back, both Beckett and Castle are still advancing. Looking nervous and uncertain now, Rogan slides to the side so that he's standing behind Alexis, who's still rubbing her arm from where the door hit it when he shoved his way inside.

Beckett slows, as does Castle, now that Rogan's sheltering behind Alexis. But while the pace has slackened, the threat has certainly ratcheted up. Beckett doesn't think she's ever seen Castle look as fierce as he does right now, except maybe when he was pummeling Lockwood, and she's sure that her countenance is no friendlier.

"Hey, hey," Rogan says, trying to calm things down after his first approach failed miserably. "Let's take it easy," he says, trying to sounds reasonable. "There's no trouble here. We can just talk, right Kit Kat?"

"There is no Kit Kat," Beckett spits out, "but there's plenty of trouble." Instinctively, she continues her approach at a left diagonal. Castle notices her move and continues his slow approach at a right diagonal to make it more difficult for Rogan to keep them both in sight. With luck, he'll be distracted by one long enough for the other to reach him.

Keeping his attention on her will help Castle approach, Beckett thinks. Any therapeutic value of what follows is purely a bonus.

"Oh, yes, there's trouble," Beckett repeats. "Let's ignore your rampant criminal activity since I was in college. Let's ignore your assault on my attorney friend and on a police officer. Let's just think about the trouble that's _right here_," she shoots out while jabbing a finger in his direction. Rogan's looking a little nervous, somehow foolishly bewildered that he wandered into such a cool reception.

"Let's see: criminal impersonation in the first degree, criminal trespass, illegal firearm possession, and four counts of hostage-taking," Beckett fires off, with Rogan flinching with every charge. "That's – oh, about 120 years, give or take. I'd call that '_trouble_.'" Rogan's looking increasingly uncomfortable and guilty. Wait a minute – he never looked guilty, especially when he was. Which means that either he's changed, or she's missed something.

"Look, Kit …," Rogan starts, but she cuts him off.

"Hold on," Beckett interjects in her best cop voice, palm outstretched to stop his words. "Where'd you get that uniform?"

"This?" Rogan asks, looking down briefly. While he's distracted, Beckett looks into Alexis' questioning eyes. With a quick, small shake of her head, Beckett discourages Alexis from doing anything. She and Castle are already on the approach and movement by Alexis might prompt a reaction from Rogan. "This is a … uh … costume."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Beckett's hit by another wave of self-loathing for ever believing a single word this buffoon said. "Where is he, Rogan?"

"Where is who?" Rogan asks before taking a half-step backward in reaction to the look of pure fury on Beckett's face.

"My colleague. Probably my friend. The officer who was on his way to meet us here before he ran into you and lost his clothes," Beckett asks, still sidling to the left. Castle's done an excellent job of approaching slowly from the right. She's not surprised – she's seen how effective he can be when the people he cares about are in trouble.

Rogan's finally started to realize that Beckett's a cut above the people who he usually cons. Worse, there's no lingering goodwill on which he can capitalize. It couldn't be more obvious from his facial expression that he's cycling through potential explanations and discarding them as quickly as they occur.

"Is he dead? Are you on the hook for murder, too?" Beckett fires off. Like a slow-motion accident, she realizes her mistake just a second too late. She had all of his attention focused on her with Castle just steps away. But now she's accused him of something so terrible that he recoils from her, looking to the others in the room for support as he denies the charges.

"What? No!" Rogan says as he looks first to Jim, then Castle. Shocked at how close Castle had approached, Rogan instinctively reaches out and grabs the back of Alexis' shirt with his left hand and pulls her in front of him like a shield.

"_Don't touch her_," Castle growls. Even Alexis is surprised by the menace in Castle's tone. But Castle's threat just worsened the situation that Beckett already created. Feeling threatened, Rogan's right hand has drifted down to the holster at his hip, his hand closing around the grip of the police firearm. It's well past time to de-escalate and calm things down, Beckett realizes.

"You need to leave, Rogan," Beckett says in her own moderate tone. "Things can only go bad if you stay. Walk out that door and don't look back."

Rogan looks tempted. Neither hand has moved – one still on the gun and the other on the back of Alexis' shirt – but he's alternately looking at the door and deeper into the loft.

"No," Rogan says while licking his lips. "No, I can't leave. Let's just …," he trails off. "Let's just go sit and talk. I need to think," Rogan says uncertainly.

"Young man, it's far too late to start thinking now," Jim cuts in from the kitchen island. Beckett's got to admire her father. With Castle too invested in Alexis' situation, Jim's taken up the role of being the slightly irreverent outsider. "Now's the time to listen," he says with a nod toward his daughter.

"Who the hell are you?" Rogan asks, still trying to figure out how it is that everyone in the room seems to have it in for him.

"I'm your ex-father-in-law," Jim says with some sharpness. While his voice lacks the menace of Castle's earlier words to Rogan, there's something in his look that has Beckett's ex-husband cringing just as much now as he did then.

"Tough crowd," Rogan mutters to himself while trying to figure out what to do.

Finally growing concerned that he seems to be flanked, Rogan tries to attend to his safety. "The couch – why doesn't everyone go have a seat on the couch. Not you," he says as Alexis tries to pull out of his grasp. With Alexis still in place, Castle refuses to move.

"Hey, Suzy Homemaker," Rogan calls out to Castle, who's still wearing the Muppets apron he donned to cook brunch, "move along," Rogan says, finally pulling the gun from the holster. It's still at his side, but Castle's not going to push his luck any further. Never taking his eyes off Rogan, Castle sidles over to the couch, where he's joined in short order by Beckett and her father. Rogan's across from them in the chair, guiding Alexis to sit on the ottoman in front of him.

Beckett watches in dismay as Rogan opts to cram the gun into the gap between the cushion and the arm of the chair, rather than hold it in hand or return it to the holster. His casual disregard for the weapon confirms her fears that he doesn't know what he's doing. His inexperience increases the chance of a terrible accident.

As she settles into her seat on the sofa next to him, Castle catches her eye and looks down in his lap. His hands are resting on his thighs, but the hand closest to Beckett has rotated to side of his leg, with index finger extended and thumb cocked. Catching his eye, Beckett looks over to the stairs, letting him know that her backup weapon is still in a lockbox up in Martha's room.

"So, uh, nice place," Rogan says. Only her vested interest in settling things down keeps Beckett from blasting him for such an asinine comment. The others either follow her lead or have reached the same conclusion on their own.

"You want the tour?" Castle mocks in return. Well, maybe not everyone's following her lead, Beckett thinks.

"Don't be such a douche," Rogan replies. Anxious to settle him down, Beckett reaches over and puts her hand on Castle's thigh. While this calms Castle, Alexis is noticeably stiff and Beckett's not sure if it's because of her contact with Castle or because of Rogan's insult.

"You said you needed to think," Beckett reminds Rogan. "What is there to think about? Every minute that passes puts you in that much more trouble. Your best option is turning yourself in right now. If not that, you need to run."

"But you could help me," Rogan says, trying again for charm. He looks put out at Beckett's guffaw, and even more offended that the other three have all scoffed or snickered as well.

"I'll help you into a squad car, and then into a cell," Beckett promises. "I'll help you into a short deliberation period after I testify against you. And I'll help you into the ground if you think about harming anyone in this room."

"No need to be hostile," Rogan grumbles. "You don't even know what I need. You're just assuming the worst," he says while casting an imploring look at her. "I'm a changed man. I've been growing, maturing. You don't know how far I've come."

"You're right," Beckett concedes, prompting a hopeful look from Rogan and an incredulous look from Alexis. "I don't know how far you've come. After all, I've been in a coma for more than a decade," she says as she happily watches Rogan's look of hope fade. "I imagine there's a lot I don't know, like how much my medical care has cost or how many women would've won the commitment of my husband if he could just let me go."

"Sorry if some of us need to work," Rogan pivots, trying a new offensive while waving an arm to take in the loft. "Sorry if not all of us were born into a life of luxury."

Huffing a laugh, Castle turns to Beckett. "He's really not very bright, is he?"

"Hey!" Rogan objects, but Beckett ignores him.

"No, I'm afraid that intellectualism was never his strong point," Beckett replies with a smile. "Nor was spelling."

"Hey!" Rogan repeats.

"How about bathing?" Alexis asks with a wrinkled nose.

"Hey!" yet again from Rogan. "That was the cop, not me," he says while giving his armpit a sniff.

"And where is the cop?" Beckett asks, still worried about her colleague.

"In his trunk, in the parking garage," Rogan admits. "He's fine."

Gladdened by this news, Beckett's also happy with the implication – the precinct will notice a missing uniform and Beckett trusts Gates to backtrack things quickly to get to the source of the trouble. Now, they only need to play for time. She squeezes the hand still resting on Castle's leg and gets a flexed muscle in return. He's made the connection, too.

"You'd better hope he is," Beckett replies easily. "Though it's one more reason to turn yourself in. We cops tend to be fairly _assertive_ when we take in suspects who have messed with other cops."

"You must be quite a pain in the ass," Rogan says conversationally to Castle. "She never used to be this violent."

"Logical fallacy," Castle replies. "The truth of the former has no causal relationship with the latter."

"Well, there is some connection. You might not have started it, but you've certainly contributed," Beckett says lightly in response, ribbing Castle to extend the conversation. He gives a chuckle in response and even Beckett's father cracks a grin.

Rogan, who hasn't understood any of this, looks annoyed at being excluded from the conversation. "What the hell are you talking about? You didn't use to be this talky either."

"I grew up," Beckett replies promptly. "A long time ago."

"Well, you used to be a lot more fun," Rogan whines. "What about you?" he asks, nudging Alexis. "What's your name?"

Beckett tightens her grip on Castle's thigh to prevent him from intervening, trusting Alexis to fend for herself. He relaxes only enough to avoid cracking his molars, which is about all she can expect.

"My name?" Alexis asks, turning regally to look at Rogan, who gives her a smarmy smile in return. "My name is I'm-underage-and-you're-exceptionally-creepy."

Momentarily stunned, Rogan rallies. "Red. I'll call you Red," he decides.

"Imaginative," Alexis scoffs as she turns back to look at Beckett. "This appealed to you at some point?"

"I can't believe it either," Beckett confesses. "If it's any consolation, he was the rock bottom that got me back on the right track."

"I'm sitting right here, you know," Rogan complains. "You really should treat me with more respect." When this line again causes chuffs of amusement from the four involuntary occupants of the room, Rogan tries another tactic: acting tough. "I am the one with the gun, after all."

"That might inspire fear," Beckett replies calmly while Castle gives a nod to his partner's point. "But it doesn't create respect," she finishes while Castle adds his agreement with a single shake of his head.

"Where do you get off talking about respect?" Rogan asks, more bewildered than angry. "I'm out there busting my ass to make a living, and you're here sucking up to Daddy Warbucks. How is that any more respectable?"

Beckett's so caught off guard by this accusation that she pauses a moment, which provides Castle the opportunity to leap in. "You never really knew her at all, did you?" Castle muses, catching Rogan's attention. "Kate Beckett is the fiercest, most ridiculous ideal of independence you'll ever meet. Did you know that your wife – _your wife!_ – took a sniper shot _to the heart_ and insisted on dealing with it by _herself?_ Every day she stares into the depths of the most horrific deviants the greatest city in the world has to offer and if there's anyone along with her, it's due to her patience, not her need." Castle's getting worked up, but Beckett's in no place to pull him back. He'd better wind this up, because she doesn't want to get emotional in front of Rogan.

"Beckett could have anything," Castle says with a sweep of his arm that takes in the expanse of the loft. "Anything at all. But you know what makes her Kate, what makes her different than you? _She won't take it_."

Castle's pronouncement has the effect of drawing silence over the room. Rogan looks confused, but all others are looking at Castle, who's trying to take deep breaths surreptitiously to hide his embarrassment at the personal outburst.

"Because I haven't earned it, yet." Beckett's words, spoken quietly, ring through the quiet loft due to their power rather than their volume. It's a promise, a commitment, a simple apology for dawdling on the road to what looks so enticing.

"Bundt cake," her father and Castle say at the same time. They catch each other's eyes and smile in the unexpected comradery of the moment, before each turns to see the shy, sweet smile that Beckett can't hide.

"Well, you've done a nice job on him, _wifey_," Rogan sneers while looking at Beckett, again looking irritated that he's missing pieces of the conversation. "Got him nice and whipped, don't you?"

"_Don't you dare_," Beckett hisses in a low tone, one laden with just as much danger as Castle's earlier outburst on behalf of Alexis. "Don't you dare try to tarnish this with cheap, misplaced innuendo. This man sitting here," Beckett says with pride, "is the most supportive, honorable man I've ever had the good fortune to meet."

"'_Supportive'_ and '_honorable'_?" Rogan scoffs. "Sorry, dude, that means you're not getting any."

"This is what you don't understand, Rogan," Beckett growls in frustration. "What you've never understood. You see the world as a series of exchanges – if I do this, then I can get that – any then you try to cheat to get a _better deal_," Beckett laces those last two words with disdain. "It takes over your life because you're always dealing, always scheming about what you can get, always looking over your shoulder in case one of your deals catches up with you."

"Some people," Beckett says as she finally moves her hand from Castle's thigh and laces her fingers through his, "just simply _are_. They do what they do because that's who they are. They give freely and as a result they reap so much more than the petty, illusory rewards that never really satisfy you."

"Yeah," Rogan agrees, "we call those people 'marks.'"

"It puts them at risk, yes," Beckett admits. "They can be harmed by cruelty, whether it be selfishness or indifference," she says as she looks at Alexis in apology while squeezing Castle's hand. "But their goodness can win out. It can … transform the people around them, make them better, maybe even make them worthy."

"But you have the opposite effect," she continues, overcoming her own embarrassment at talking about transformations. "When you see everything as a deal, that's how people react. Which is why you'll never really be happy or satisfied," Beckett concludes.

"Whatever," Rogan replies, tired of the discussion and the criticism of his lifestyle. "He still sounds like a lovesick tool to me. What's the matter, not man enough to seal the deal?" Rogan challenges Castle.

Beckett's concerned about building to another confrontation. They're still playing for time, but she's not doing well at keeping the conversation light. She's also curious about how Rogan's locker-room taunts will affect Castle. After all, Castle's not really a "guy's guy" – poker groups and metrosexual jokes aside, he's been surrounded by women all of his life, often without male role models. Despite the seriousness of their situation, she's interested to see how he reacts.

"I'm perfectly secure in my sexuality," Castle replies with a cavalier smirk, letting his concise confidence speak volumes. But it turn out that it's the other Castle that Beckett should have been watching.

Finally reaching her limit when Rogan snorts in response to Castle' comment, Alexis stands quickly and whirls around to look down at Rogan, who's still sitting in the chair.

"I've had more than enough of you," she spits at him. "Who the hell are you to barge into my home and insult my father? He's a better man than you could ever hope to be."

Uncomfortable at being scolded by a young woman standing over him, Rogan comes to his feet. God bless Alexis, Beckett thinks as she sees that Rogan's left the gun in the chair, instead raising both hands in a gesture aimed at calming Alexis. She feels Castle tensing next to her and knows that he's noticed the same thing and is preparing to make a dive for the chair if the opportunity or need arises.

"Easy, Red, easy," Rogan soothes, trying to calm the irate teenager. "I just need to rough him up a bit, you know, make sure he's good enough for her."

"Make sure _he's_ good enough for _her_?" Alexis asks quietly in what Beckett recognizes as the same tone she used last night, right before everything went to hell. Rogan doesn't know the tone and seems to assume that his charm is working to calm Alexis down.

"Yeah," Rogan says smoothly. "I mean, if I'm not in the picture, I need to make sure that Kit Kat's got somebody who knows how to treat her well, right?" Rogan asks obsequiously, as if he expects anyone to believe that he'd adopt this role of protector. "Not some jackass playboy."

Things might have been okay if not for those last four words. As they start to leave his mouth, Beckett's hit by a memory from the academy, back when they were doing field training with flash-bang grenades. The last words are still leaving Rogan's mouth and Beckett has to fight the urge to grab her dad and Castle and dive for the floor in a duck-and-cover maneuver.

There's a brief moment of silence after Rogan finishes speaking, followed by a crack that might accompany the mast of a sailing ship breaking in a storm, or a bridge support beam collapsing under too much weight. Rogan's head has spun to his right, the imprint of Alexis' vicious right-hand slap already rising on his left cheek.

"You little …"

But whatever Alexis was supposed to be a 'little of' goes unsaid as her right foot connects with Rogan's groin while conveying sufficient kinetic energy to score a field goal from at least 30 yards.

With a strangled gurgle Rogan slowly collapses to his knees. But Alexis isn't done. As he falls, she raises her knee. It connects solidly with Rogan's nose, releasing another crack that leaves a spray of blood on Alexis' school skirt.

The loft is suddenly quiet, but-for Alexis' panting. The three conscious adults are shocked into stillness, watching the teenager with wide eyes.

Alexis slowly reaches down to her skirt, lifting it enough to look at the blood stain from Rogan's nose. As she lifts her head to look at her father, Beckett's heart twists as she sees the tears running down Alexis' face. Castle launches from the sofa and has his daughter wrapped in a tight hug before the first sob hits.

"I'm sorry!" Alexis cries into her father's chest. "I'm so sorry!"

Castle's rocking her in place, murmuring to her in an effort to calm her down from the sudden eruption of violence. Beckett knows that Castle signed Alexis up for self-defense classes, but she strongly suspects that Alexis has never hit anyone before, much less fully taken someone down. The shock of her first encounter is wracking the poor girl right now. Knowing that her assault was fueled by anger is surely making her feel even worse.

Rising from the couch, Beckett doesn't want to intrude on their moment but she does want them to know that she's here and that they have her support. She rubs each of them on the back gently before securing the weapon and turning to her mess of an ex-husband.

He's out cold and Alexis almost certainly broke his nose. That'll be a story to help him win attention in jail – beaten and apprehended by a teenaged honor student. Maybe she'll threaten to let the story out as a way to keep Rogan in line. For now, though, she needs to secure him so that he can't slip away yet again. Noting that the case on his belt is empty, she calls out to her partner.

"Castle, do you have any cuffs?" she asks, before mentally kicking herself and looking up at him.

"You're the cop," Castle says as if explaining a simple concept, but his pointed look is not exactly thanking her for putting him on the spot by asking about handcuffs in front of Alexis and Jim. "But, I've got some duct tape in the utility drawer in the laundry nook."

Acknowledging her gaffe with a nod and smile, Beckett stows the weapon on a high shelf above the washer and retrieves the tape while her father stands over Rogan and Castle continues to comfort Alexis. Beckett catches a few phrases as she winds the tape around Rogan's wrists and ankles, including "bad-ass," "as good as Beckett," and "ginger justice."

"Captain Gates," Beckett says into her phone after trussing Rogan with far more tape than was strictly necessary. "Will you please send backup and a bus to Castle's address?"

"_What happened? Are you alright?_" Gates asks quickly, surprised by Beckett's request. Apparently, the officer sent to bring Alexis to school hasn't yet been missed.

"Rogan intercepted the officer you sent. He used the uniform to gain access to the loft, where he's held us since he arrived, but he's been subdued," Beckett explains.

"_Hold on_," Gates says, after which Beckett hears her calling instructions in the precinct. She's back in less than a minute. "_I trust you didn't use undue force_," Gates scolds. "_Have you located Officer Sachs?_"

"I didn't subdue the suspect," Beckett says quickly. "As for Sachs, I haven't left the loft yet to check, but Rogan said that he was locked in his trunk in the parking garage."

"_It sounds like this will be an interesting report,_" Gates sighs. "_Help is on the way. Try not to marry or maim anyone before it arrives?_"

"Yes, sir," Beckett grumbles before disconnecting. Gates needs to leave the jokes to Castle, she thinks savagely.

Fishing in the pockets of the still-unconscious Rogan, Beckett finds two sets of keys. One must be for Sachs' squad car, the other for Rogan's vehicle, Beckett guesses. "Castle, we're going to go get Sachs out of his trunk. Do you have any extra clothes he could borrow?"

"Sure," Castle says while still hugging Alexis. Nodding toward the laundry nook again, he says "Basket's full of clean clothes. Take what you like, just not Green Lantern or Powerpuff Girls."

Shaking her head while wondering if they even sell Powerpuff Girl shirts in men's sizes, Beckett grabs some gym shorts and a Mets t-shirt from the clean wash. Her father, who had stood to praise Alexis, moves to the door to accompany Beckett down to the parking garage. He cracks the door open just as Beckett approaches Alexis to add to her father's compliments.

But, just as it had been not even an hour ago, the door to the loft is again forced open from outside. Beckett's dad is knocked back slightly. In profile, Beckett sees his look of confusion shift into one of fear.

Through the door walk three men Beckett's never seen before, but she's certainly seen their type often enough at work. The first man through the door, the one holding a revolver aimed at her father, is relatively small – maybe 5'8,'' probably about 150 pounds. He's dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, his short, dark hair receding but not yet showing any gray. He's the brains.

His two companions are the brawn. Each looks distinctly simian, with massive arms that speak to many hours in the gym. Clearly, they both skip 'leg days' as their necks are far larger than their thighs. Too wide to walk through the door together, they come in turns. They seem well-trained – neither set of piggy eyes stray to take in the loft. Instead, attention is split between the people in the room and their boss.

"Well, look at this," says the leader as he motions Jim toward the others with the gun. "One problem down already," he says as he walks over to where Rogan is bound on the floor. With a grin of delight, the boss rears back before planting a swift kick to Rogan's side. If he weren't already unconscious, Beckett's sure that would've caused a loud scream.

Turning to face the people in the room, the boss looks at each in turn with a smile. "Thanks for O'Leary. Now, where's my money?"

* * *

A/N2: Hi everyone. Thanks again for the PMs and reviews, and especially for the kind wishes for our hospital stay. We're all back at home and recovery seems to be going well, so life if good. As far as this chapter goes, though, I kind of feel like I missed an opportunity. There were many different directions this could have gone, and as much as I tried for some comedy I think the general seriousness around me crept in a bit. Hopefully, it still worked.

We're also close to the end here. Another chapter or two, but we're definitely in the home stretch.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Down below.

.

_Turning to face the people in the room, the boss looks at each in turn with a smile. "Thanks for O'Leary. Now, where's my money?"_

* * *

This new intrusion, following the shocking resolution of Rogan's visit, leaves them all stunned. Their new captor doesn't seem pleased by the lack of an answer.

"Let's try this again," the boss says while turning his back to Rogan's prone form and facing the group. "_Where is my money?_"

"He was empty-handed when he shoved his way inside," Castle volunteers, trying to draw the attention of the intruders. Beckett, meanwhile, opts to follow his lead. She can't really announce herself as a police officer since she's suspended and has neither badge nor gun, and this crew doesn't seem like it would react particularly well to that surprise right now. But, she's ready to help Castle draw this out until backup gets here.

"Really," the boss says with a raised brow and a clear look of disbelief. "He just stopped by for a social visit?"

"We're not sure why he stopped by," Castle answers, trying to build a flow and perhaps slow things down while stalling for Gates' resources to arrive. "He was frantic, peeking out the door. He didn't say much. He said he needed help, but didn't tell us with what. Then he said he needed to think about something."

Chuckling, the boss shakes his head. "O'Leary, thinking. That's probably too outrageous to be a lie. But tell me this: if all that's true, why is he unconscious and tied up?"

Beckett worried about this during Castle's explanation, but if he's surprised by the question, it doesn't show from his answer. "He tried to get a little … handsy," he explains with a shrug.

"That definitely sounds like O'Leary," the boss confirms. "So, where's the gun?"

"We didn't know where to put it," Castle explains with a wrinkled nose as if the whole notion of a gun is somehow distasteful or foreign. Beckett's not sure that answering straight out was the best strategy, but they're committed to this story and she's going to back up her partner. "It's on the shelf above the washing machine, in the laundry area," he finishes by pointing.

One of the bruisers moves silently and without instruction to retrieve the weapon. The quiet servility of the muscle and the direct efficiency of the boss are increasing Beckett's concern. This isn't a gang of thugs – they're used to working together, they knew where Rogan was, and they got into a secure building. The only lucky break they received was her dad opening the door – they were probably waiting for Rogan in the hallway.

As the helper returns, Beckett's alarm skyrockets. In addition to the gun, the helper also hands over a hammer that he retrieved from Castle's utility drawer.

"I like you," the boss says while looking at Castle, pointing with the hammer after stashing his and Rogan's weapons. "No fuss, no whining. It's a good thing you didn't lie about the gun – old bones break easily," he says with a nod toward Jim Beckett. "But here's my problem – we know O'Leary took our money and it's not in his car. So, where is it?"

"Maybe he checked it at the security desk?" Castle suggests. "He was dressed as a cop so I'm sure Eduardo would have helped him out."

"No," the boss chuckles, "I'm certain that your security guy didn't have it." Something in his tone raises Beckett's hackles, but it's Alexis who speaks first.

"Is Eduardo okay?" she asks while still wrapped in the protective embrace of Castle's arms.

"Depends," the boss says directly. "Does your building use a dumpster or an incinerator?"

Alexis' hand shoots out to cover her mouth, terrified about Eduardo's fate. "We have a dumpster," Castle says quietly while trying to comfort his daughter.

"Then maybe he's fine," the boss says indifferently. Tired of the delay and apparently convinced that they have no information of use to him, the boss points to Rogan and then to the chair. One of his large helpers grabs a handful of Rogan's shirt, lifts him easily, and tosses him into the chair. When the jostling fails to wake Rogan, the boss points to the kitchen and the other helper moves quickly. Beckett's again concerned that the boss hasn't yet had to say a single word to command his troops.

Taking a bowl from the drying rack, the helper returns promptly with the cold water that's unceremoniously dumped on Rogan's head, leaving him sputtering and groggy. Rogan's head is down, so the first thing he notices is his bound hands. Confused, he slowly looks up and his befuddlement morphs into terror as he sees who's crouched in front of him. "Vasil…," he moans quietly.

"Welcome back, O'Leary," the boss, Vasil, says with a smile while tapping the hammer into his palm.

"Vasil," Rogan groans again, "I was just on my way to see you."

"That's funny," Vasil replies. "We've been following you since you left town last night. You've stopped at law firms, apartment buildings, and here. It doesn't seem like you were very anxious to talk to me."

"I was looking for help," Rogan chokes out. "I think Williams – the deputy – was going to sell you out. I needed some help to plug the leak."

"Oh, O'Leary," Vasil laments. "No imagination. Williams is a known commodity. In fact, he told us an interesting story about the information you were willing to provide in exchange for assistance with your current legal difficulties."

"He's just trying to frame me!" Rogan exclaims. Oh, Rogan, Beckett thinks, not even I believe you and I don't know any of these people.

"Happily, there's an easy way to prove your loyalty," Vasil says silkily. "Where's my money?"

"What money?" Rogan asks with wide, innocent eyes.

In response, Vasil gives a curt nod. One of his helpers stands behind the chair and grasps Rogan's shoulders, pinning him down. The other kneels in front of the chair, using one hand to pin Rogan's bound ankles to the chair front while using the other to unlace Rogan's sneakers. Rogan struggles, but his efforts are futile; it's not clear that the muscle even notices his attempts to wiggle out of his situation.

While his helpers setting about their business, Vasil turns to Castle while still slapping the hammer into his palm. "You see, honesty served you well. O'Leary here, he's going to demonstrate what happens to liars."

That's another lie, of course. Whatever Rogan's mixed up in is serious enough to have enraged a professional crew. They're planning to torture Rogan right here in case the money is nearby and they've taken no steps to mask their identities. Praise for honesty aside, Beckett knows that Vasil has no intention of leaving witnesses behind. It's what stops her from telling him that the police are on their way – rather than flee, Vasil seems like someone with the sociopathic reserve to cover his tracks before making a calm retreat. Catching Castle's eye, she suspects that he's figured things the same way. All they can do now is be ready to move with any opportunity that Rogan provides and hope that reinforcements arrive soon.

"No!" Rogan shouts before his own grimy sock is crammed into his mouth. Vasil approaches and kneels down in front of the chair, staring at the head of the hammer that he's slowly turning back and forth to play with the reflected light from the window.

"I'm going to ask you again, O'Leary, where you put my money. With each lie, you lose a toe. Then we'll move to your knees. Do you think you can hold out until we reach your hands?" Vasil ponders, still turning the hammer in hand and not looking into Rogan's wide, panic-filled eyes. "You'd be the first. But, before I ask, you already owe me a toe for your first lie."

Vasil's lining the head of the hammer up with the big toe on Rogan's right foot when a noise at the door distracts them all. Again with the door? It's too early for the backup to have arrived. Beckett's heart plummets at the sound of a key working the lock. Martha wasn't supposed to be back until next week! Looking quickly at Castle, she sees her own confusion and fear reflected back at her.

With a flick of his wrist, Vasil directs the man pinning Rogan's feet to attend to the door. The large helper's just managed to lift his enormous bulk when the door opens.

But it's not Martha who enters. Instead, the first thing they see is the petite derriere of Castle's maid. She's backing into the loft while struggling to hold a loaded bucket in one hand and pulling a cleaning cart with the other. The woman can't be taller than 5'2'' and the high ponytail in her dark hair makes her look about 20, though she's really probably closer to 30.

The sheer incongruity of a little maid backing into a torture scene seems to freeze everyone in place. Everyone except the maid, who slowly continues her struggle into the loft while wrestling with the bucket and the cart. Her appearance certainly seems to have fractured reality a bit, because all Beckett can manage when she looks at the maid, in spite of the seriousness of their situation, is the petty thought that if she and Castle are going to start dating, this gorgeous maid with a key to his apartment has got to go. The confident little smile that she sees on Castle's face doesn't change her mind, nor does the upturned brow he shoots her way.

Shaking his head to refocus, the large helper assigned to the door moves to intercept the maid. As he does, the maid lets go of the cart while panting a little bit, using both hands to lower her heavy bucket to the ground.

But the bucket never settles. Instead, the maid spins in place, the whirling bucket building speed for nearly a full arc before it meets the side of the strongman's head, knocking him off his feet with a sickening crunch that might be the bucket or might be his head.

Naturally drawn to the movement of the flying body, Beckett wrenches her eyes back to the maid. She's already on the move, hurtling towards the chair holding Rogan. The second thug releases his hold on Rogan's shoulders and moves into her path, only to see her execute a near-perfect slide that easily puts her below the reach of even his long arms. Using her momentum, the maid springs up again on the other side of the giant, rising with an open-handed strike that catches a shocked Vasil under his chin. Head snapping back, Vasil's knocked onto his back where his head makes a sickening thud as his body collapses to the floor.

Turning where she stands from having delivered the blow, the maid catches the hammer that had flown from Vasil's hand. With a predatory look on her face, the maid slips into a lithe fighting stance, hammer at the ready and smile in place.

The remaining thug slowly surveys the room. After looking at both of his colleagues for several long seconds, he looks back at the maid with an appraising stare. Then, to everyone's surprise (and the maid's obvious disappointment), he abruptly kneels. Crossing his ankles while lacing his fingers together behind his head, he finally speaks. With a surprisingly high, reedy voice he asks "Do me a favor? Please tell 'em you pulled a gun on me."

He continues to kneel docilely while the maid stands behind him with the hammer. "Rick," she says, calling Castle into action. While he walks to her cart and rummages around to find a set of cuffs beneath a cleaning rag, Beckett moves to secure the guns from Vasil's inert form. After handing off the cuffs, Castle moves to the kitchen, returning with two plastic bags for the weapons and another for the hammer.

"You must be Debbie," Beckett says as the maid secures the other two conspirators.

"Debbie Delmonico," the maid confirms as she draws the zip-cuff on Vasil's ankles. "Detective Beckett, I'd like to thank you for this assignment."

She'd normally assume this to be a sarcastic remark, but remembering her reaction to the thug's surrender and Fitz's comments about Debbie's exuberance, Beckett decides that Debbie's comment must be genuine. "Glad you're enjoying yourself," Beckett says with a smile, extending her hand while hearing her father blow out a stress-relieving huff.

To her surprise, Castle steps forward and pushes down on Beckett's forearm to move her hand back to her side. "The police are already on their way. We can hold the fort for a few minutes if you want to change before the cavalry arrives," Castle offers to a smiling nod from Debbie. Retrieving a small duffle from the bottom of the cleaning cart, Debbie trots into Castle's room and closes the door.

Thinking that this familiarity is even worse than a cute woman prancing around in Castle's place while wearing a maid's outfit, Beckett rounds on her partner with eyebrow cocked.

"She doesn't like being touched," Castle offers to cut her off, "at all. That's why I pushed your arm down. She doesn't shake hands, or high-five, or fist-bump. In fact, if Debbie touches you, it means she's looking to hurt you. Bad."

Motion in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Beckett's surprised to see Alexis nodding along to Castle's explanation. There must be an interesting story here if Alexis is in the loop, too.

Before she can ask any questions, the door to Castle's room is already opening and Debbie emerges wearing yoga pants and a thin sweatshirt, her hair down around her shoulders. Her attention, as well as that of everyone else in the room, is captured by Rogan's muffled sounds and squirming in the chair. With a look of distaste, Debbie steps forward and yanks the sock from Rogan's mouth.

Rogan takes a few gulping breaths before he looks at the woman to whom he owes his toes and probably his life. "Hey!" he exclaims as he looks at Debbie in her new clothes, finally recognizing her from the arrest that started this whole mess for him. "You still owe me dinner!"

The sock is back in his mouth when back-up, led by Esposito and Ryan, arrives five minutes later.

* * *

As they arrive at the precinct, Beckett escorts her group – Castle, Alexis, Debbie, and her father – to the lounge on the homicide floor. In deference to Beckett's situation, Gates is using Esposito, Ryan, and Karpowski to take statements in order to limit the embarrassment that flows from Beckett's connection to Rogan. It's almost certainly a lost cause, but Beckett still appreciates the effort.

Leaving her friends and family in the lounge for a moment, Beckett walks down the hall to check in with Gates. Ushered into the office where the Captain is talking with Karpowski, Beckett approaches and sets the duffle bag on Gate's desk.

"What's this?" Gates asks.

"A big bag full of cash," Beckett says blithely, enjoying the sight of Gates' widening eyes as she draws the zipper to confirm Beckett's explanation. "It's apparently what O'Leary stole on his way out of town that led the second group to track him down."

"Why didn't they just take the money and O'Leary and leave?" Gates asks while Karpowski looks a little dreamy, probably imagining the possible uses for all that cash.

"O'Leary hid the money before he forced his way into the loft, so they didn't know where it was," Beckett explains. "In fact, no one knows we've found it," she says while turning to Karpowski, "so you can use that as a lever in your interrogations."

"Where'd you find it?" Gates asks, intrigued.

"Castle found it," Beckett admits proudly. "O'Leary pushed up the service panel on the elevator on his way up to the loft, so the bag was just sitting on the top of the elevator car."

"Why'd he look there?" Karpowski asks.

With a shrug, Beckett guesses at the answer. "The crew had followed Rogan and searched his car in Castle's garage, so it wasn't there and he didn't have it when he came into the loft. He had to have stashed it on the way to Castle's door, so there weren't many options."

"Huh," Karpowski replies. "I would've guessed he'd use the garbage chute."

"Wouldn't that have been interesting," Beckett muses while Gates and Karpowski cast her curious looks. "The crew tossed Castle's security guard down the chute," she explains. "Would've been ironic if he'd landed on the money they were searching for."

"Is the security guy okay?" Karpowski asks.

"I think so," Beckett replies. "Ryan's getting an update from Officer Larson at the hospital."

"I'll take care of this," Gates says of the duffle bag as she takes it off her desk and sets it on the floor out of sight. "You'd better get moving on statements," she says to Karpowski, who rises from her chair with a nod and joins Beckett.

With Karpowski waiting for her, Beckett stops by the lounge to see Castle and Alexis, who are sitting close to each other on the couch. Kneeling down and placing a gentle hand on Alexis' knee, Beckett apologizes. "I'm sorry about this. We need to take the statements of everyone separately. But I've asked Kevin to take yours, so at least you'll know him. If you need _anything_, please let him know or come find me?" Beckett asks. After Alexis' brief nod, Beckett rises and rubs Castle's shoulder before leaving to give her own statement.

* * *

Beckett just catches a glimpse of the elevator doors closing on Debbie as she emerges from giving her statement. Done with Debbie's statement, Esposito has decided to take Castle next. From the sound of his voice as Beckett and Karpowski approach the lounge, Esposito's not happy.

"Dude, you and I are going to have serious words. I can't believe you were holding out on me. She is _hot hot hot!_" Esposito exclaims to Castle's chuckle. "Did she really take out the big guy and the boss man by herself?"

Castle confirms her story with a laugh. "In about five seconds flat. But don't waste your time, Javi," Castle consoles, "she's not interested in that kind of thing. Plus, she'd whip your ass for even looking at her the wrong way."

"Just because you're afraid doesn't mean that a braver man won't prevail," Esposito taunts as Beckett and Karpowski enter the room to see her father looking amused at the conversation that's taking place.

"You're welcome to try," Castle says with a dubious smile as he stands and prepares to follow Esposito to the conference room. "Just let us know what kind of flowers you'd like for your hospital stay."

"See, that element of danger just makes it _spicier_," Esposito exclaims as he performs a complicated little dance step on the way out of the room, followed by a chuckling Castle.

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness, Beckett introduces Karpowski to her father. As they're leaving to take his statement, Beckett sees Ryan opening the door down the hall for Alexis. Seizing the opportunity, Beckett joins them.

"She did great," Ryan says with a gentle pat to Alexis' shoulder. "As well-spoken as her father but with an ability to stay on point that she must have learned from someone else." After pausing to make sure that his comment was taken in good fun, he turns to Beckett. "I've got to go take Sachs' statement. Then, as soon as Espo and Karpowski are done, we're going to start on the interrogations. Well, the two we can do," he clarifies, saying nothing more about the hospitalization of the bucketed thug. "You can't participate, but you can observe."

"Maybe," Beckett says vaguely. Not only does she trust her colleagues, she's not sure she wants to wallow in the mess that this whole situation has become. Her time might be better spent with her father and the Castles.

"There'll be enough room," Ryan says with a sly grin.

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks, starting to dread the answer.

"Well, it's a slow day since this isn't actually a homicide," Ryan answers gleefully. "So, our ME has time on her hands and thought she'd like to get a good look at Rogan O'Leary."

"Oh, crap," Beckett trails off while Alexis smiles. Of all the things to worry about today, she's not sure how she'll work in figuring out how to contain Lanie. She'll worry about that later, but it certainly hasn't made her more anxious to watch the interrogations. Time to shift gears. "Any word from the hospital on Eduardo?"

"Concussion and a broken arm," Ryan answers, provoking a sad sigh from Alexis. "I know there's lots going on, and the Castle place is still roped off as a crime scene, but it might do him some good to see some friendly faces. Larson says that he's blaming himself for the whole thing, thinks he should have hit the alarm and stayed quiet even with a gun pointed at him."

"We'll make the time," Beckett says decisively, earning an appraising look from Alexis. "Thanks, Kevin," Beckett concludes, trying to convey her appreciation for his gentle care of Alexis, his discretion for her situation, and the support that he regularly provides even with the teasing.

With a casual salute and a "No problem, boss," Ryan departs to find Officer Sachs. Turning to Alexis, Beckett asks "Will you join me?" in a voice that betrays her frayed nerves.

Alexis nods after a few seconds and Kate leads her to the break room, where Alexis accepts a glass of water. Beckett opts for the same, thinking that more caffeine might not be the best option right now.

"I was hoping we could talk," Beckett starts. When Alexis doesn't reply immediately, Beckett clarifies "Well, perhaps I was hoping that you'd be willing to hear me out?"

Again, Alexis gives a curt nod without speaking. This isn't exactly a rousing start, Beckett worries, but she needs to make an effort here.

"You did really well back at the loft," Beckett compliments. Still frightened by her actions, Alexis gives a little frown and looks down. "I know it's scary. The first time I took someone down in the field I felt horrible. The initial exhilaration of seeing my training at work quickly gave way to a wave of shock that I'd hurt someone. Then I felt guilty about having been excited about my first confrontation and worried that I went overboard. I was a mess, but I didn't want anyone to see it and think I was weak. So, I bottled it up until I could break down in an alley."

Beckett wonders how Alexis is reacting to her story, if at all. She's so uncomfortable talking about this that she's staring at the table at which they're sitting, hoping that Alexis is following along.

"My partner wasn't fooled," Beckett admits. "He waited in the car even though he knew there was no reason for me to be in that alley. When I finally showed up, he just said '_Hell of a thing, that first take-down_.'"

Buoyed by this fond recollection, Beckett looks up into Alexis' eyes. "So, hell of a thing, huh? I know you're not looking to be a cop, and I won't say it gets easier, but I will say this: you did well, you acted with only the force necessary, and you protected our fathers. _Thank you_."

Blinking a bit at the praise and the gratitude, Alexis blushes and looks down. For Beckett, it's difficult to tell if her words have made any headway in helping Alexis feel better about her actions in the loft.

"I also want to apologize," Beckett says. Alexis' head shoots up, surprised that Beckett's being so direct.

"I made a terrible mistake back when I was 19. It wouldn't have been so bad if it just affected me. But, it's snowballed ridiculously out of control. Fitz got hurt. You and your father were threatened. You were forced to protect us. I'm so sorry, Alexis."

Beckett's looking down again, uncertain about where to go from here or how she can repair her relationship with Alexis.

"It wasn't your fault," Alexis says in a tiny voice. This time it's Beckett who looks up in surprise.

"Well, getting married was your fault," Alexis amends, "that was just stupid. But you didn't hit Fitz and you're not a criminal. Your … ex-husband … is a terrible person. The bad things that happened trace back to him, don't they?"

"He's certainly a mess, but I don't think I'm so blameless," Beckett confesses. "Nor should I be. I'm responsible for what I did back then."

"I agree," Alexis says with a raised brow. "But that doesn't make you responsible for his actions since then. I mean, come on. Imagine that you went to Vegas with some girlfriends, got drunk, and married a certain mystery novelist back then. Trust me, Dad's been to Vegas plenty of times. If you showed up at our door looking to resolve an unknown marriage, the only problem you'd have is that Dad would want to try again, right? There wouldn't be any criminal gangs or medical billing scams."

Huffing a laugh, Beckett agrees. "No, no scams or criminal gangs. Maybe just a poker group that wouldn't stop teasing him and the embarrassment that would result from my colleagues learning about my husband's indiscretion with a police horse."

"_His what?!_" Alexis nearly shouts.

Oh, crap. Apparently Castle's naked impression of Paul Revere wasn't known to his daughter. She must have ignored the related line-item in his will. "Ah, would you believe that I made that up?"

Alexis answers with crossed arms a single raised brow.

"Right. Well, there's a get out of jail free card for you, I guess. Use it well," Beckett grimaces, but Alexis can't stop a small grin from blossoming.

Buoyed by this small interaction and reading maybe too much into Alexis' slight defense of her, Beckett thinks about plowing ahead. It might be too soon, and they're both a bit wrung out from the stress of the day, but things went well last time she tabled her fear and talked to Castle, right? With that meager bit of unaccustomed optimism, Beckett takes the plunge.

"Actually, Alexis, there was one other thing I wanted to talk to you about," she says, and something in her tone wipes the smile from Alexis' face.

"What's that?" Alexis replies in a tone that matches her standoffish posture.

"Your dad," Beckett replies, "and my hope that we can build a romantic relationship together."

"Should you even be talking about that here?" Alexis asks, probably looking for a way to stop this conversation before it starts.

"No, I shouldn't," Beckett agrees. "But we showed some affection last night and I know you weren't happy about it. Actually," Beckett continues quickly, noticing that Alexis was about to cut in, "I know that you have some concerns about me in general."

"Look, Detective…," Alexis starts, but Beckett interjects.

"With good reason," she confesses in a low voice. "I've made mistakes, some pretty big ones. And I'm not great at letting people get close to me. But I'm working to get better. It's like I told your dad – I've been trying to get better, to heal the cracks in my heart. He's already helped me so much. Your dad, Alexis …," Beckett trails off, embarrassed and shy. "Among his other wonderful traits, your dad is a remarkably forgiving man. Thanks to him, we've got a chance, and I'm looking to make the most of it," Beckett says, uncomfortable at the notion of being more clear about her romantic hopes with Castle.

"I don't expect you to be as forgiving," Beckett continues, getting a nod from Alexis. "I mean, no one can be, right? But, I also know that you watch out for him. So, I'll apologize for the times that I've hurt him, and you, but I won't ask for your forgiveness. I'll just hope that I can earn it."

Alexis looks surprised by this declaration. "You're right," she says, "he is a forgiving man. Usually too forgiving. It makes me worry. It's like you said – it puts him at risk. He's good at hiding it, but he gets hurt very easily."

"And I have hurt him," Beckett admits. "I know that. I know …," Beckett trails off, her courage failing her as she looks over the edge of this conversational cliff.

Cautiously curious about where Beckett is going with this, Alexis asks her to continue with a tilted head and raised brow.

"Look, Alexis," Beckett says as she jumps, "I heard your conversation with Rick last night. I didn't mean to, but when I realized that you were there, I heard your comment and it just floored me. You can hate me for my poor manners, too, but before we go there I need to say this – you were right about so many of the things you said. And while I love that your dad showed such faith in me, he was too kind. I wasn't being frivolous when we talked about the cake during lunch – only recently have I really figured out how much better I could have been to him, how much better I want to be."

The silence that follows her confession convinces Beckett to consider the assessing stare from Alexis. It's not unfriendly. In fact, if Beckett squints a bit, she could almost convince herself that Alexis looks – pleased?

"Thank you," Alexis says quietly.

"For what?" Beckett replies, surprised and confused by this reaction.

"For being honest," Alexis answers. "I knew you heard us."

"The second step?" Beckett asks after a moment of shock, referring to one of the giveaways that Castle had mentioned.

Alexis nods in reply. "It's been like that for years. Dad leaves it that way to keep track of us, but I've known to step over it whenever necessary since I was a kid. It still works on Grams, though," she says with an indulgent look. "And visitors, obviously."

"Did you hear me on the way down or on the way back up?" Beckett asks. She's curious about how much of what Alexis said might have been as much for her ears than for Castle's, or if Alexis figured it out the same time as her father.

"I think I'll choose not to answer that question," Alexis replies cryptically, well aware of the different implications depending on when she learned of Beckett's presence.

"That's fair," Beckett replies while nodding. "I am sorry, by the way. My manners were atrocious, especially for a guest. I can only claim shock as my defense," she says with an embarrassed shrug. "I'm not sure I could have moved if the loft was on fire at that point."

With a smirk, Alexis cuts in. "If the loft was on fire you would have burst in, thrown me over your shoulder, and drug Dad out by the scruff of his neck," she laughs. "It's emotions, not mortal peril, that scare you."

"You're right," Beckett concedes. "I find physical vulnerability much easier to deal with than emotional vulnerability. I'm well trained for the former, but still in counseling for the latter," Beckett says earnestly.

"You're in counseling?" Alexis asks, growing a little nervous about where this conversation is heading.

"Alexis, there isn't an accusation you made about me last night that I haven't made against myself," Beckett admits. "I didn't deal well with my shooting or the feelings that were building between your father and I when that happened. So, I've been talking to someone to try to work out how to get past my mistakes and not repeat them," Beckett trails off as she realizes that Alexis is the first person she's told about this. That doesn't feel right – it should have been Castle. But maybe this path was for the best.

"Is it working?" Alexis asks shyly.

"I think … yes, it is," Beckett amends. "My therapist is very good. I wish I could talk to my dad about some of this stuff, but he's just … he didn't deal well with my mother's death." Beckett huffs out a sad laugh. "Not that any of us did, but we almost lost dad. So, how can I talk to him about my romantic hopes with Castle? He lost the love of his life. How can I talk to him about the frustration of trying to find mom's killer? Doing so might make me lose him. Everyone else I could confide in is too close, too involved in what I need to talk about. So, my therapist helps."

"Does Dad know?" Alexis asks, knowing that she's pushing further than she should but emboldened by Beckett's openness.

"Not yet," Beckett chuckles. "He will, don't worry. After all, most of my sessions are about him these days. It's just that events kind of overtook us in the last couple weeks. Maybe now that Rogan is locked up we can take a breath and focus on the important things."

"Did you …," Alexis trails off, finally hitting a topic where her hesitancy wins out. But, given how much she's shared already, Beckett figures there's nothing left to lose and spurs her on with two raised brows. "Did you really not know about your marriage?"

"I had no idea," Beckett says with a sigh, running her hand through her hair. So, maybe this is at the root of Alexis' concern about her – the thought that she'd been a fixture in Castle's life for years without telling him that she was married? "Your dad came into the precinct one day and just couldn't sit still. I mean, he can be impatient and fidgety, but this was just out of control. He agreed to leave but he visited me that night, gave me the file with my records in it. He knew that I was totally unaware of it and that I wouldn't react well when I found out."

"Wait – Dad told you about this?" Alexis asks in stunned disbelief.

"Yes, it was your dad who figured it out. If he hadn't, who knows when it would have come to light? Maybe when I applied for a marriage license, or some unfortunate time before," Beckett says, thinking of all of the opportunities that Fitz has already outlined.

"But how did Dad find out?" Alexis asks in confusion.

"I'm … not sure that's something we should get into," Beckett vacillates. "I'm trying to be honest with you here, Alexis, but your Dad and I are trying to figure things out right now. That cuts pretty close to the heart of our relationship and I'd like to give us time to find our way. I'll look forward to telling you about it in the future, but we'll let it slide for now, okay?"

Alexis doesn't answer immediately, but seems to weigh Beckett's comments. Finally, she looks Beckett square in the eye. "Okay, Detective. I appreciate that you've been honest with me. You didn't have to be – you didn't even have to seek out this conversation, I get that," Alexis declares. "But you know what means more to me than anything else you've said?" she asks rhetorically, waiting for Beckett to give her an inquiring look. "You're talking about a relationship with my Dad that will still be going sometime in the future. If you're looking forward to telling me the story about how Dad found out about your marriage, then I'm looking forward to hearing it."

"I do see a future for us, Alexis," Beckett confirms. "That's what I want."

"Then I won't interfere," Alexis pledges. "I'll promise you this, Detective: I'll put as much work into accepting you as you put into your relationship with Dad. If the two of you are happy, then I will be, too," she says earnestly. "But if you mess him around, I'll do anything I can, anything I have to, to protect him," she finishes with a fierce vow.

"You're a good daughter," Beckett acknowledges. "A good woman."

Blushing slightly, Alexis mumbles "I'm trying, too."

Nodding, Beckett recognizes Alexis' comment for the olive branch that it is. "If you're worried about me, if you think I'm messing with your dad, you can call me on it, you know," Beckett adds. "I'm invested in this, but I might make some mistakes."

"I don't know," Alexis replies, nervous.

"Whatever you're comfortable with," Beckett soothes. "Just know that if you want to talk to me about what's going on, you can."

"Okay," Alexis replies, slightly more comfortable.

"Now, why don't we go check on your dad?" Beckett says with cheer, trying to rouse them from the serious topics. "I've learned, to my detriment, that it's not always safe to leave him to his own devices."

"You have no idea," Alexis mumbles as they leave the lounge and see Castle relaxed in his chair beside Beckett's desk.

"Castle, you should have joined us. I didn't realize Espo was done with you already," Beckett says, surprised by his patience.

"I've only been here for a few minutes," Castle says with a smile and a shrug. "You two looked like you were having a private chat, so I thought I'd just wait."

Surprised that she hadn't seen him, Beckett goes for levity. "But there's no second step here – you could have gotten quite an earful of girl talk."

Castle's eyebrows shoot up as he looks from Beckett to Alexis, shocked that Beckett referenced her eavesdropping in front of Alexis. He's even more surprised when his daughter swats Beckett on the shoulder.

"Thanks a lot, Kate," Alexis grumbles. "Now he knows that I know about the squeaking stair."

At this, Castle has surpassed looking comically surprised. Learning that his daughter has been sneakier than expected and that she used Beckett's first name, especially after last night, leaves him looking slightly concussed.

"I'm sorry Alexis," Beckett apologizes earnestly, "that was unintentional. But, at least you still have your free pass," she says, referring to Castle's equestrian adventure. "If you need more, maybe we can talk."

"I'm not entirely sure what's going on here," Castle says good-naturedly. "I think I'm happy that you two seem so friendly, but for some reason there seems to be a feeling of doom creeping over me."

"Drama queen," both Beckett and Alexis say at the same time, then look at each other and start laughing.

"The boys are right," Castle mutters, "that is creepy." This only prolongs the laughter.

Rolling his eyes, he reaches out to hook his arm around Alexis' elbow. "Come on, already. We've got to get moving. We need to visit Eduardo and then decide where we're going to stay tonight."

"They might clear the loft soon," Beckett interjects, feeling guilty that Castle and Alexis are dispossessed after offering to host Beckett and her father.

"Even if it is," Castle replies, "I think we could use a break tonight. We'll have the cleaners – the real ones," he says with a smirk, "give the place a good once-over before we come back."

"Can we go to the beach house?" Alexis asks, with Castle nodding before she finishes. "That's a good idea – get out of our heads after a rough day," he agrees. "What do you say, Beckett? Would you like to join us?"

The sense of displacement almost causes vertigo. Here they are again, two years later: in the precinct, Castle extending an invitation to his beach house. Things went so horribly wrong last time this happened. Is it crazy to think that they can get it right this time?

After looking hopefully at Castle, she glances at Alexis before answering. The young woman doesn't say a word, but her eyebrows rise slightly. Whatever it is – challenge, encouragement, question – it isn't discouraging.

"I'd love to," Beckett says happily. With a smile like a beacon, Castle turns on the spot and hooks his free arm around Beckett's elbow. With a physical connection to each of the most important people in his world, Castle eagerly leads them to the elevator, anxious to be away.

* * *

A/N2: I inadvertently caused some confusion with the group that appeared at the end of chapter 9. Just because Rogan ran afoul of a biker gang in season 6, it doesn't mean those were the same guys after him in this timeline. Indeed, as it probably clear from what happened above, this crew was a little more subtle and menacing than the bikers. For those of you whiplashed by the displacement, my apologies. I'm also sorry about Eduardo's abuse, for those of you who worried about how the crew got into a secure building. Otherwise, many thanks again for the PMs and reviews as usual. They've been pleasant surprises as life in our home continues to make strides towards getting back to normal.

As for this story, we're almost done. I'm trying to decide about whether to dally with what happens on their weekend or just skip to Monday. I'll figure it out and get the next chapter up soon.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: This chapter follows the main characters out to the Hamptons. There's not much plot development here, just two people trying to work things out. It you're looking for gregarious attorneys, sketchy exes, or remarkably insecure secure condo buildings, maybe next chapter. More below.

.

"_Can we go to the beach house?" Alexis asks, with Castle nodding before she finishes. "That's a good idea – get out of our heads after a rough day," he agrees. "What do you say, Beckett? Would you like to join us?"_

* * *

Beckett slowly opens the door and creeps inside. The sun hasn't yet managed to wake, leaving only stars and a waning moon to provide any illumination. She can just barely make out the contours of the room and the outline of the bed at its center.

Moving stealthily, Beckett tiptoes to the far side of the room before perching on the edge of the mattress. Her target is now inches away from her. He's sleeping toward the right side rather than the middle of this monstrosity of a bed. The decadent comforter is pulled mid-way up his bare chest, protecting him from the whorls of air formed by the lazy movements of the ceiling fan. He looks so peaceful and serene.

But it's not enough to derail her plan.

She needs to wake him gently, quietly. Well, maybe that's an excuse, she admits, but one she's willing to embrace. Twisting in place, she reaches over and starts smoothing the palm of her hand in small circles on his chest. He's a furnace, emitting a seductive warmth that seems designed to pull her under the comforter. But she resists, content to continue the motions of her hand, though the circles she draws get broader, sloppier, and a little more vigorous.

"Mmmmm, Beckett," he mumbles as he tightens his arms and a small smile graces his lips. Then, suddenly, his eyes snap open. "Beckett?" he mutters in disbelief.

"Shhhhh," she whispers, aglow with satisfaction. It's nice to know that she haunts his dreams, since he's flitted into hers for … a long time. Although, it is interesting that he said "Beckett" rather than "Kate." Maybe the dream was set at the precinct?

Locking eyes with him, she continues rubbing circular patterns on his chest for a few moments as he comes fully awake. "You promised me a morning walk on the beach, Castle," she whispers. "Rise and shine."

"Beckett," Castle whispers back, in a gravelly early-morning voice that she definitely wants to hear again in different circumstances, "you realize it'll still be morning for another six or seven hours, right?"

"I've dreamed," Beckett replies softly with her hand coming to a standstill over his heart, "of coming here and walking on the beach with you – probably hundreds of times, Castle. Just the two of us, together, enjoying the peaceful, romantic solitude of the sand and the waves. I just can't wait any longer," she finishes, drawing out the last four words.

Lifting her hand from his chest, Castle doesn't break eye contact as he brings it to his mouth and place a gentle kiss on her palm. "Then let's go."

Beckett stands to allow him to slide out of bed, denying her curiosity by turning from him slightly to allow a modicum of privacy as he makes his way to the en suite bathroom in only his low-slung pajama bottoms. Speaking of dreams, there's another tub in there that's been the focus of some of her other fantasies. Those thoughts distract her until Castle emerges a minute later, probably setting records for his morning routine. She follows as he pads his way to the walk-in closet.

She catches his wrist as he reaches for the light switch. "We need to be stealthy – I don't want to wake Alexis or my dad," she whispers into his ear. "We'll see them for breakfast, but I want to spend time with you, first," she finishes with a kiss to his cheek.

Instead of the light, Castle uses the glow of his cellphone to find some clothes. In another minute they're sneaking into the hallway, trying desperately to be quiet. They'd be more sneaky if they weren't holding hands, but neither can bring themselves to break their connection.

"Shhhhh!" Beckett whispers after a flirty hip-check made Castle bounce lightly off the banister for the stairs.

Pulling her into a hug, Castle whispers into her ear. "This is so cool, Beckett. First time I've ever had to sneak past a dad to get _out_ of the house to spend time with a girl."

With a nip to his ear and a light elbow to his side, they resume their escape.

When they finally make it to the ground floor, Castle stops them next to a closet. "It'll be cold out there," he whispers as he collects some insulated windbreakers and a stuffed duffle bag before escorting her to a sliding glass door.

Standing outside in the cool morning air, Beckett's immediately glad that Castle thought of the jackets. Donning them quickly, they are about to set off before Beckett catches Castle's elbow as he slings on the bag.

"Do me a favor?" she whispers into his ear. After his nod, she explains her request. "It was too dark to see your house when we arrived last night, and I'd kind of like to see it from the outside all at once. If I close my eyes, will you lead me down to the beach?"

"Beckett, you've known me for a long time," Castle whispers back. "And in all that time, I'd do _just about_ anything for you. Well, it turns out that if you ask by whispering in my ear, I'll do _absolutely_ anything for you."

"That's good to know," she replies with another kiss to his cheek. Then, with a beaming smile, Beckett steps back, closes her eyes, and extends her hand. Castle knows her well, knows that this is about more than just seeing his house. She doesn't easily relinquish control, so she's hoping that this simple, silly request can set the tone for their weekend. She's also hoping that their talk of romance will curb any devilish impulses that might otherwise lead Castle to walk her into his pool.

She's surprised, though she shouldn't be, that their walk isn't marred by the halting steps or murmured, bumbled directions that have marked the "trust walks" she's endured in college orientation and academy training exercises. They move gracefully together; Castle might as well have danced them to the sand.

After walking along the beach for a few yards, Castle stops with a gentle tug. Moving in front of her, he orients Beckett directly away from the house with a hand on each shoulder. "You won't ruin any surprises if you look now," he whispers, even though they're well out of earshot from the house.

Opening her eyes, she sees him in front of her with only sand and water as the backdrop. "Surprise," she says quietly before closing the distance between them.

This time, there is no marriage looming over them, no turned cheek. There is no guard, no shadow of captured colleagues or temporary distractions. It's just the two of them, free of all encumbrances, embracing each other at the dawn of a new day. It is glorious.

The need for air and reduced heartrates finally wins out as they separate, each wearing endearingly silly smiles. They lock eyes while they breath, sharing a moment easily as intense and intimate as their kiss.

"I love you," Castle says again, proudly, recalling their night at Vinnie's.

"I'm in therapy," Beckett replies, eyes widening in shock as she realizes what she said. Closing them slowly in mortification, her eyes blink open quickly at Castle's guffaw.

"I've imagined this thousands of times, daydreamed about the possibilities, the scenarios," Castle says mirthfully. "But, I can honestly say that I never imagined us starting with a statement like that!"

"Castle…," Becket moans, trying to regain control of this conversation.

"I mean, '_I'm in therapy'_? Not a great confidence booster after a heartfelt declaration and a kiss I've been dreaming about since I met you, Beckett," Castle chortles.

"Shut up," Beckett says while failing to keep a straight face. "Your confidence will survive just fine. I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous about this. There are things that I want to tell you, things that we should talk about. I just got a little ahead of myself."

"Well, just two days ago I promised that I wouldn't tease you about anything I learned or make you uncomfortable around your dad," Castle says while retaining his good humor. "I _suppose_ we can extend that deal for a bit."

"How magnanimous of you," Beckett says with rolled eyes and an indulgent smile.

"I'm good like that. Come on, let's walk," he says after giving her a quick kiss and grabbing her hand.

Wandering down to the shore, they walk together in silence as the sky begins to brighten. "So," Beckett says when she breaks the silence. "I know this will come as a surprise, but I'm seeing a therapist."

"I suspected so," Castle says seriously, running with Beckett's facetious lead-in. "Nothing escapes my finely trained observational skills. It's why Gates is so desperate to keep me at the 12th."

"You're right, I clearly shattered your confidence," Beckett retorts as she bumps his shoulder. Letting the humor take flight, she dives in. "Before I tell you about it, I want to apologize. Or, well, maybe not apologize, but explain." She's getting flustered already and they've only just gotten started. She's starting to tighten up – there's so much riding on this conversation that she needs to make sure she gets it right.

"Hey, Beckett," Castle says gently to catch her attention. "It's just me. You don't have to worry about wording things perfectly. Just talk, and trust that we'll get to where we were always meant to be."

It's almost maddening how simple Castle can make things, she thinks, despite his obvious talent for confusing her.

"I always pictured telling you about my therapy," Beckett dives in. "I'd build it up in my head, think about the different ways we could talk about it, how it would clear the way for something between us." At this, Castle gives her hand a squeeze but remains quiet. "In every scenario, you were the first person I'd tell. But, after hearing what Alexis had to say about me the other night, I wanted to talk to her. We had a good talk in the precinct yesterday, and my therapy came up during our conversation. I'm not sorry that I talked to her about it, but I am sorry that you weren't the first to hear the details."

"Oh, Beckett," Castle replies with a smile and a hint of exasperation, "don't _ever_ apologize for treating my daughter with honesty and respect. Besides, I saw how you two interacted after that talk. If telling her about your therapy helped you find some common ground, I couldn't be happier."

"She's a wonderful young woman, Castle. And a fierce defender," Beckett says with an impressed huff.

"I love every aspect of my daughter, including the recessive acting and drama genes," Castle laughs. "But I don't need a defender."

"Yes, you do," Beckett says seriously. "Not to take sides here, but Alexis was right the other night – for someone who's been so good to the people he cares about, your feelings get stepped on a lot. Often by high-heeled boots," she confesses.

"I'm tougher than I look, Beckett," Castle says, echoing his response to Alexis. "But I'll tell you this: I won't mind if we're turning to a new, more tender chapter of our story."

"Wimp," Beckett replies while sliding her hand up his arm to grasp his bicep before leaning her head on his shoulder for a few steps.

After a few more strides on the sand, Castle picks up the conversation, surprisingly let her challenge drop. "Hey, Kate, we're being honest with each other as we get started here, right?"

"We're trying, Rick," she replies, acknowledging the more intimate use of her given name and following his lead. "It's a bit of a change, especially for me, but it's time for us to be more … real … about the way we are together. That's something you want, isn't it?" she asks, still a little insecure about where she stands and worried that she's misread Castle.

"Absolutely," Castle confirms. "We're just in the neighborhood of a touchy subject that I should share. Alexis wasn't quite right the other night when she was talking about my threshold for abuse. Things with Gina didn't really end because of the way she treated me. They ended because of the way I treated her."

This isn't what she expected and talking about Gina while they're walking on the beach at the Hamptons is probably the worst timing she can imagine. Still, if they're going to move forward, they need to get over these ghosts from the past.

"What do you mean?" she prompts.

"I put Gina in an untenable position right from the start," Castle admits. "Back then … Mother wasn't around, I was trying to juggle being a dad and an author, and Alexis started having obvious troubles that a mom could have addressed. As a dad, I was clueless. Not … menstruation or hormones," he says with discomfort as he waves his free hand around as if warding off evil spirits, "just the … feminine insight, I guess. I had hoped that Gina could be a good role model for Alexis," Castle trails off.

"And she wasn't?" Beckett asks after a few steps.

"She never really had a chance," Castle confesses, "because I never trusted her enough to actually be a parent to Alexis. I invited Gina into the family, but as a picture, an example, not as a mom or a real parenting partner." He pauses for a moment, probably caught on that last word. "Gina's not dumb. She saw the writing on the wall – she knew she'd always come second to a girl she wasn't allowed to raise. So, she made an ultimatum. It's no mystery which option I picked."

"Castle, she knew you had Alexis when she married you," Beckett defends. "Hell, as your publisher, she probably knew about your home life even before you became involved. She couldn't, well, she shouldn't have been surprised about your relationship with Alexis."

"Have you ever seen that cartoon with the bride and groom standing in front of the priest, just about to say their vows?" Castle asks. Beckett assumes it's a rhetorical question because this really isn't enough to go on. "The groom is thinking '_ten more minutes and I get to have as much sex as I want_.' The bride is thinking '_ten more minutes and I never have to have sex again_.'"

It's a cheap joke, but it still gets a little chuff of laughter from Beckett.

"That's what happened with Gina and I, but our disagreement was about her role in Alexis' life – she assumed it would change and I married her to keep it the same," he says quietly.

"And round two?" Beckett asks, skating at breakneck pace onto thin ice.

"Let's table that for a second?" Castle says. "We'll come back to it, but it takes us away from why I pulled us onto this topic in the first place."

"Tell me?" Beckett asks, following Castle's lead.

"Remember our dinner at Vinnie's?" he asks.

"I promise you, Rick, that I'll never forget it," she replies with complete sincerity.

With a chagrined smile, Castle nods. "Then you remember that we talked about how well I know you. And I do, Kate – I know you very well. Well enough to trust you, to love you, to invite you into my home. Well enough to constantly seek your advice on how to parent Alexis."

Now the direction of this conversation starts to come into focus. "You mean that…," Beckett trails off, growing uncertain and not wanting to embarrass herself.

"I mean that I actively blocked Gina's overtures to guide Alexis but sought out your help and advice," Castle confesses, pausing while they walk a little further down the beach.

"So, confiding in my daughter, being honest with her despite your discomfort? Don't ever apologize for that. It's been something I've wanted for a long, long time," he confesses. "I had to get you both out of there before I got teary right there in the precinct and tarnished my manly reputation."

"You trust me too much," Beckett replies after knocking shoulders with Castle, "and you give me too much credit. Alexis is a wonderful woman. You've done so well with her that it's hard to imagine there's much parenting left to be done."

"Ha! That's doubtful," Castle laughs. "Not all of her genes are recessive. No, she's a Castle, so she'll probably go off on a wild bender or drag home some shiftless drifter or move to a commune or some damn thing that will make me absolutely crazy," Castle chuckles. "And I'll get gray hairs for all the years it'll take off my life. Which is okay as long as it comes in here," he says while running his free hand through his hair from his temple back around his ear. "It'll help me look distinguished."

"If it stays in," Beckett chides, knowing that suggesting baldness is a cheap shot but unable to resist.

"Bite your tongue," Castle admonishes. "But, you're probably right, in a way," he sighs, picking up their discussion. "Alexis' trajectory is set and there isn't much I can do at this point other than cheer for her and catch her if she falls. That kind of brings us back to your question about Act Two."

"Let me guess," Beckett interjects. "If parenting disputes led to the first break-up, the theory was that parenting wouldn't get in the way with Alexis as a young adult?"

"That was Gina's theory," Castle admits. "Mine was a little less optimistic. Well, that's not right. Maybe it's more honest to say that my motivations were more about retreating than advancing."

"Demming," Beckett provides a single-word explanation to Castle's fumbling.

"I tried so hard to be happy for you," Castle says quietly. "And I tried to be honorable and stand aside, but I just screwed up the whole thing. Let me say this right now – it might have taken us two years longer than I'd hoped, but I'm ecstatic that you're here now. I'm sorry I made such a mess that it took us so long to get here."

"You didn't make the mess, Castle," Beckett disagrees. "I made my choice back then – I'd let Tom go and was ready to accept your invitation when Gina showed up." Still not thrilled with this topic, Beckett can't deny the feeling of catharsis from letting some of these secrets free. Maybe Castle's right – maybe they just need to get everything out and have some faith in their outcome.

"I know," Castle replies, jolting Beckett to a stop. When her stare makes it apparent that she's waiting for an explanation, Castle unslings the duffle bag. Withdrawing a towel for them to sit upon, he waits until she's settled next to him and then draws a blanket over their shoulders. The silence stretches out while they look out over the water, now illuminated by a sun that's almost fully risen.

Strength gathered for this next portion of their discussion, Castle begins with an explanation. "It took me a while, but I figured it out, eventually. The comments from the boys, the glares from Demming, the timing with Josh – it just hit me one morning. You noticed, actually," he says with a small huff.

"I did?" Beckett replies with surprise, not recalling any discussion like this.

"There's no reason you'd remember," Castle says with a small chuckle. "You know how we have those moments when we're building theory and everything just falls into place? That's what it was. I was sitting next to your desk and it just clicked. I went still and quiet, which obviously caught your attention."

"I bet it did," Beckett smiles. "I probably thought you were having a stroke."

"Heart attack, actually," Castle chuckles in reply. "You assumed that Ramirez had walked by and asked if I needed a defibrillator. You remember, the ADA who moved to Santa Fe?"

"I remember her," Beckett says with the smile slipping from her face. "It was practically a day of mourning when she left, at least among the men in the precinct. But, I find it interesting that you know where she went."

"We keep in touch," Castle says vaguely, "friends in common."

"She asked about you, back then," Beckett confesses. "I'm not sure that I gave you as glowing a recommendation as I should have, for purely selfish reasons."

"That's an interesting subject that _certainly_ warrants further discussion," Castle crows, "but we're drifting off topic. I worked out our timing problem and realized that when I let Gina talk me into another try, I opened the door for Josh. It was like Demming all over again, except that it was worse because I pushed you at that damned umbrella."

"Umbrella?" Beckett asks, confused by this characterization. She'd expected Castle to go with the old nickname, or some new medical- or motorcycle-related epithet.

"If I 'love like a thunderstorm', what better way to describe him?" Castle asks.

"That's a pretty lame nickname, Castle," Beckett huffs as she pushes against his shoulder, "but a pretty accurate description of what he was. The longer we were together, the more obvious that became."

"We're entering old territory here," Castle says with a sigh. "I'm more interested in what happened after your shooting than before." As Beckett lets her head fall to look at her feet rather than the horizon, Castle jumps in as he puts an arm around her shoulder. "Sorry, that was too abrupt. I guess it's my turn to be anxious to get to some other topics. I know all of this is essential for us."

"Come on, Mr. Author, you've got to have a great metaphor to help us focus our effort, right?" Beckett teases in a bid to get back on track.

"I'm struggling a bit, obviously," Castle replies with a roll of his eyes and a squeeze of his arm. "You're not the only one who's daunted here. But, I'm trying. I've only got a trite agrarian analogy, but I'm sure I can come up with something that involves wizards, aliens, or Elvis if you give me a minute."

"Let's hear what you've already got, farm boy," Beckett requests quickly.

"Boring," Castle moans in reply. "But I'll play. We need to change positions first, though. C'mere," he says as he moves his legs into a v-position and pats the ground in front of him. Happy with his offer, Beckett scoots in front of him and leans back into his embrace.

"Much better," Castle says as he wraps his arms around her. Beckett agrees with a long, soft sigh.

"We're clearing our field," Castle explains. "Plucking the rocks, showing them to each other, then chucking them over the fence so they don't interfere with our harvest."

"Mmmmmm," Beckett replies, enjoying being wrapped in Castle. "What're we growing?"

"Old and happy together," Castle replies earnestly.

"I can't believe I walked right into that one," Beckett groans. "How long have you been waiting to use that line?"

"Since I asked you to come and cuddle," he confesses. "I figured it might make up for the field metaphor."

Turning her head, she rewards his playful optimism with a lingering kiss to his cheek. "I know we should be heading back and that we're got more stones to pull along the way," Beckett whispers. "But, can we just stay like this for a little while?"

"I think we've earned a break," Castle agrees, nuzzling her gently. "We're doing well here, Kate. Each painful memory exorcised, each missed opportunity recognized brings us that much closer. We'll get there."

Sighing and relaxing into him, Beckett again appreciates the hope that radiates from her partner brighter than the newly-risen sun. As contented as she feels, Beckett makes the effort to burn this moment into her memory – sitting on a beach, watching the water, lulled into a pleasant stupor by the whisper of waves and the comfort of Castle's embrace.

She blinks slightly in confusion as she looks again at the sun, which seems to have jumped higher in the sky.

"Welcome back," Castle whispers in her ear. Burrowing into him, Beckett's a little embarrassed that she fell asleep, but not surprised. It's hard to remember a time when she felt so comfortable and safe.

"Your back must be killing you," she finally says as she tries to lean forward, only to be stopped by an arm than bands around her, just below her shoulders.

"Just give me a minute," Castle requests, "I like to wake slowly from good dreams."

"You slept, too?" she asks in surprise, wondering how they didn't collapse in a heap right there on the beach.

"No," Castle whispers as he nuzzles her again.

"Castle?" she says after a few minutes. Receiving only a hum in response, Beckett takes a moment to enjoy the feeling before speaking. "I just want you to know that I've never felt as loved, as cherished, as you've made me feel. It's ridiculous, really," she says, surprising herself with a little chuckle, "that my most intimate moments just involve sitting with you, here on the beach or back at the loft with a hairdryer."

It takes Castle a few minutes to reply. In a voice as intimate as the scenes she's described, he whispers to her. "_This_ is what I imagined, Kate, when I dreamed of us being together. I know there will be other dimensions to our relationship and I'm looking forward to exploring those," he says in a voice surprisingly free of bravado or suggestiveness. "But, this is the core, the heart of us."

"You were right, you know," Beckett whispers after she gets control of herself. "When you asked if my reaction to your dream was fear. I was terrified."

"I know, love, I know," Castle pauses for a beat, probably reining in his own emotions. "That was the biggest challenge to this whole Rogan scenario," he begins, leaving Beckett again amazed that Castle doesn't sound bitter or judgmental about her situation. "I thought that I'd have to move incrementally to get you used to the idea of a relationship. But the last two weeks haven't left much room for going slow."

"You pictured moving slowly?" Beckett says with some surprise. "I always thought that at some point we'd just look at each other and lose control." Then, in her own shy voice, she adds, "We've come close a few times."

"More than a few," Castle huffs out as a series of near-misses flits through Beckett's mind like an old-fashioned slide show. "And I'm kind of on the same page. I imagined an out-of-control explosion, too. Many of them, hopefully," he teases, finally letting his playfulness shine through and earning a little shove in return. "But, you know that I've dreamed about more. I started to worry that if we jumped before we were ready, that's all we'd have – some fantastic memories of obscenely aerobic exploits tinged with doubt about whether it would be enough to hold us together."

"You've come a long way, Castle," Beckett says as she leans forward and starts the process of getting them up and moving again. "That's not something I would ever have expected to hear from the guy who propositioned me on our first case."

"Best rejection of my life," Castle says as he stands and stretches to work out some kinks. "Don't get me wrong, Beckett," he says while casting her a devilish look before folding the blanket and towel before rolling them into a cylinder that slides easily into the duffle. "There were many, many times you had me panting. I was conditioned for our little refrigerator escapade by many cold showers, literal or figurative."

"Really," Beckett replies flatly as she burrows in for a standing hug, not willing to let him have sole claim to some frustration in their past. "I can't imagine."

"There's a reason that Southern California is still suffering a drought," Castle replies. Beckett's glad that her face is pressed under his cheek so that he doesn't see what she's sure is a radiant blush. She still thinks about that night…

"Come on," she says briskly, stepping out of his embrace and grasping his hand. "We need to get back before Alexis and my dad get worried," she says while giving his hand a tug, "and I still have some explaining to do. _Someone_ keeps pulling us off topic."

"Go easy on me, officer," Castle replies, "it's my first offense. I promise to behave."

Knowing that such an offer has a limited shelf-life, Beckett decides to jump to the heart of her confession in case they get distracted again. "My therapy sessions are mostly about you these days," she says, immediately catching Castle's attention as he grows serious. "They started as a way to deal with my shooting, but I eventually got better, with the help of my therapist," she says while looking at Castle, "and you."

He's struggling to remain quiet and give her the space she needs to explain. But Beckett can see the exact moment when he decides on a compromise. Coming to a quick stop, he leans in and gives her a kiss, then pulls on her hand to get them back on pace.

Smiling gently, Beckett continues with a lighter heart. "As I dealt with my shooting, that left my unresolved feelings for you as the main source of confusion," she confesses. "So, Doctor Burke has been helping me. He's a good counselor, even when I frustrate him. And trust me, Castle, I have done, often. Especially lately."

"You, frustrating?" Castle can't help but interject. "Inconceivable!"

"'You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,'" Beckett replies in a terrible Spanish accent, earning a radiant Castle smile in response.

"Besides, I'll prove it with two examples," Beckett challenges, to Castle's accepting nod. "Exhibit one," Beckett intones, trying to emulate Fitz's lawyerly tone but failing as the severity of the coming conversation swells, "my lie about not remembering my shooting or your beautiful words then."

Taking a moment to gather herself before she dives in to this topic, she risks a quick sideways glance at Castle. He's reserved, staring forward into the distance. It takes a moment to place the look, then she remembers him standing in front of the sink after their lunch on Thursday, still hurt from the conversation they'd had at Vinnie's. Seeing him so upset should freak her out, but instead it invigorates her. Like a doctor who's found the cause of a disease rather than the symptoms, she knows that if they can just come to terms with this they might be in the clear.

"I'm going to tell you why I lied, Castle. I'm going explain, as best I can, why I did what I did last summer," she promises. "But, before I start, I want to say two things clearly, in case I mess up," she says as she comes to a stop, then moves around to stand right in front of him. "So, just to make sure that there's no confusion, I want you to know these two things. First, your words were precious to me. When everything else was bleak, when I was so scared or in so much pain that I couldn't think, those words sheltered me." She feels a little guilty at this characterization and its excess romanticism, but she promises herself that she'll explain this more soon.

"Second," she says while looking into his eyes, making sure that she has his attention, "I know that I didn't treat you well, that I hurt you. I'll explain what happened, but please know that I'm not trying to rationalize or … minimize what I did. I'm so sorry, Castle. You deserved better."

Castle stares at here intensely for several long moments, then gives a silent nod. She's gratified that he didn't make a joke or refer to the Bundt cake story – he's let go of his most reliable defense mechanism and is totally focused on her.

Tugging on his hand to get them moving again, Beckett falls into place beside him. "I've never known the kind of pain, the kind of terror, I experienced when I was shot," Beckett says, quietly. "It's funny – in this job, you know your chances of getting shot are pretty high. But the longer you defy the odds, the more you convince yourself that if anything does happen, it won't be that bad," she scoffs. "It was horrible, Castle. Nothing made sense, everything hurt – light, sound, memories. The only relief from the terror was overwhelming pain. And shame. Shame that I was so weak when I'd convinced everyone I was so strong."

Looking at him again, she's shocked to see tear tracks on his cheek. She hasn't even gotten past what she was feeling and his heart has broken for her.

"I used your words, your love as a refuge," Beckett confesses. "When I couldn't hold on, when everything was a blur of pain or panic, I at least knew that I was someone who could be loved. I'm sorry, Castle, but I didn't even let myself think about the romantic importance of those words from you to me. I needed to heal and get stronger, and for that I needed to remember who I was before I was shot. Sometimes, all I could remember is that I was someone who could be loved."

"Someone who was, someone who is extraordinary," Castle says quietly but surely.

"But I didn't feel that way, Castle," Beckett replies. "I felt broken."

Her admission silences them both for several long moments, leaving them to their thoughts as they retreat internally, nearly unaware of their bucolic surroundings.

"Why didn't you call?" Castle asks in a small voice, failing to hide the sound of his heartbreak.

"I was so scared, Castle," Beckett explains. "I felt like I was fighting to reclaim myself, to get back to who I was." While she's tempted to stop her explanation here, she promised to be honest in this conversation. So, even though it hurts, she expands on her explanation. "And, as much as I wish it weren't the case, who I was before I was shot wasn't somebody who'd reach out to you for help when she was vulnerable."

Turning to look at Castle, Beckett's a little worried about what she'll see. At first, she thinks he's not reacting at all, hiding behind a poker face. But as she studies him, she can tell that he's thinking about how they treated each other back then. She can see the frustrated acceptance as he reaches the same conclusion.

"And who are you now?" he asks. It's a fair question.

"Now, I'm somebody who's almost healed. I'm somebody who's diving into a relationship with an incredible man while I'm myself, not some panicked wreck. I'm someone who's seen how wonderful this could be," she says while squeezing his hand, "and who's willing to fight for it."

"You've talked to your counselor about this?" Castle asks. It's hard to read him right now – his tone is guarded, so she can't tell if he's upset that she talked to someone else about this or not. She worries that his tone and temperament seem a little like Alexis' after their talk Thursday night.

"I have. Repeatedly. He wasn't impressed with my initial lie or my failure to own up to it," she confesses.

"So why did you? Lie, I mean. I think I understand what you were going through, the way you explained it. But I don't understand why you had to lie to me. I would've left you alone if you said that's what you needed," Castle asks, some frustration and disappointment bleeding through into his question.

"I didn't trust you, Castle," Beckett admits in a low tone. "That's my failing, with no reflection on you. But back then, I was worried that you'd try but not be able to give me the time I needed."

"Would that have been so terrible?" Castle asks plaintively.

"I needed to be me, Castle," Beckett struggles to explain. "Dr. Burke's helped me to realize that I don't have to be perfect, I get that. And I understand better now than ever that I don't have to solve mom's case before I can live for myself. But I didn't feel like me for months after my shooting, and I didn't want to start something with you as anyone but myself. If that makes any sense," she trails off, wondering if she's done anything other than cause confusion.

Castle looks like he's wrestling with something, leaving Beckett nervous about what's coming. She's running out of time – she's not exactly sure which house is his, but they've been walking for a while now so they must be getting close. Knowing their talk will be postponed once they're back among relatives, she's hoping that they can get to a good place before they arrive.

"I'm sorry, Beckett," Castle finally says. "I don't want to dwell on this or seem like I'm pouting. But I'm not sure when we'll be talking about this again and I know that I'll kick myself if I don't ask this now," Castle prefaces. "But if you lied to buy yourself time to get better, why didn't you tell me once you were back? Why were you so cryptic when we had our conversation on the swings?"

"Don't forget, Rick," she says, trying to drive the point home with her use of his first name. "I know I messed up. I'm not trying to justify what I did, just explain it. And I guess there are two explanations. The first is something I'm working on with Dr. Burke – how to accept that I don't need to be perfect before I let myself jump in with you. I went a little overboard on the getting healthy thing," she says with consternation. "So, I put off confiding in you while I was getting stronger, or thought I was. It was …"

"A misguided pursuit of unattainable perfection that conveniently justified procrastination?" Castle interrupts. He's still hurt, Beckett knows, but now some of the anger is starting to show through. Finally. Now they're getting somewhere.

"Dr. Burke is usually more oblique when he talks about it, but yeah," Beckett confesses sardonically. "And, yes, it became a stalling technique. He helped me see that."

"Did he help you before or after our dinner at Vinnie's?" Castle asks, still upset.

"He's helped me since I came back," Beckett confesses. "It took me a while to actually talk to him for real, rather than just say the things I thought he needed to hear to authorize my return to active duty. But I'm still seeing him, especially when I need help. And I needed a lot of help after the terrible things I said at dinner," she confesses again, trying to make sure he knows how terrible she feels about that conversation, "and what I learned about afterwards."

Castle still looks upset, but Beckett's worried that she's missing something. Fear making her bold, she decides to be as direct as he's been.

"Rick, I know I've made mistakes and I'm trying to get better," she says as a way to lead in to her question. "But it feels like there's something bothering you that I can't figure out. Are you angry that I talked to my therapist about this, about us?"

Castle looks forward for a few steps without responding. Beckett's getting a little nervous about his answer – she hadn't thought that Castle might feel upset or betrayed by her conversations with Dr. Burke. She's not sure what she's going to do if Castle objects.

"No," Castle says, breaking her thoughts. "I can only be happy, and grateful, that he's been helping you. I wasn't entirely joking earlier – I had noticed the changes in you since you came back and wondered if you were getting help. To be honest, I'm glad to hear that it was a counselor."

He couldn't really have thought that she'd confide in someone else, someone new, could he? Then again, how much insight has she really given him since returning from the cabin?

"Of course it was a counselor, Rick. I was trying to get stronger for us, remember?" she cajoles, trying to invigorate some faith.

"But I didn't know that then," Castle counters. "In fact, I'm not sure I'd know it now if not for your marital situation," he sighs. "I guess that's what's bothering me. Nothing you've said suggests that you were ready – we've just been reacting to outside circumstances for the past couple weeks. Tell me this," he says as he pulls on her hand, turning them away from the shore and signaling their imminent arrival at his house. "If not for Rogan and what we've dealt with lately, would you still be stalling?"

"I don't know, Rick," Beckett answers, knowing that it's not the answer that he wants to hear but hoping that he appreciates her candor. "It's like you said to Alexis – this thing between us has been getting stronger and stronger. I'm not sure when I would have confessed, but I think we would've come together soon even without Rogan."

"But maybe that's my point, or why I'm upset," Castle says. He's running his free hand through his hair in exasperation or frustration, which reminds Beckett that his other hand is still grasping one of hers. Given how the latest portion of their talk is going, his refusal to let go provides some comfort. "If we found each other before then would you still have confessed, or would you've figured that it didn't matter anymore and just remained silent?"

Beckett's out of time, literally and figuratively. They're approaching Castle's house and the view, as she'd imagined, is breathtaking. But now's not the time for a comment like that, despite the set-up at the beginning of their walk. They've also alit on a topic where Beckett doesn't have a good answer. She suspects that if she and Castle had started a relationship before she confessed about her lie, it would have been altogether too easy to convince herself that no good would come of dredging up old history.

"Castle," she says, coming to a halt so that they can have a last little bit of privacy. "I know you want to hear that I would've confessed soon, whether we were in a relationship or not. I wish I could give you that answer. But, we're being honest with each other now, even … no, _especially_ … on our touchy subjects. I'd like to think that I would've been brave, but I'm not sure I would've been. The honest answer is that I don't know what I would've done. I would've been terrified that a late confession would end us before we started."

Looking at her sadly, Castle considers her words, then nods. She's not sure what that means. Just as she's about to ask, Alexis calls out. "_There_ you are," she shouts from a balcony. "We've been worried! Get in here, brunch is almost ready."

After another long look, Castle leads them to the house. His firm grip on her hand bolsters Beckett's hopes her last statement hasn't already come true.

* * *

A/N2: A few folks suggested that I should follow through on the trip to the Hamptons after skipping past date night in Breaking Away. It didn't quite go the way I thought it would, but I guess there are more than a few things that these two need to talk through if they actually want this to work. The next chapter will pick up where this one left off, so we'll see where this goes. I'm out of sick days, so it's back to work with a road trip in the offing. Not sure if that'll mean more or less time to write, but I'm hoping to have the next chapter up by the middle of next week.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Still out at the Hamptons.

* * *

"So, what's on the agenda for the day?" Castle asks as the four of them finish the brunch that Alexis and Jim had prepared during their prolonged absence. "The pool temp should be just about done coming up, we could head into town, or we've got anything you'd need for the beach, though it looked like there might be clouds on the horizon," he offers.

No, that was just us, Beckett thinks in reference to his last comment.

"You don't need to entertain us, Rick," Jim says amiably. Bless her dad, but that's exactly what Castle's done through this meal – put on a show. Jim's happily unaware of any tension, but Beckett suspects that Alexis is more clued in to Castle's emotional state. "I brought some depositions to review and was thinking about pulling up a beach chair outside, but your library is very tempting. Maybe I could borrow a book? You know, just to put on top of my work papers to keep anything from blowing away?" he says with a laugh.

The sound catches Beckett off guard. She can't remember the last time she heard her father's light laughter, especially around other people. There's just something about Castle that seems to break through defenses and put people at ease. To be fair, she should credit Alexis, too, as she seems to have learned this skill from her father. Jim was certainly in a good mood after cooking brunch with Alexis, another surprise for her this morning.

"Absolutely. There's some of mine in there, but don't let those distract you from the good books," Castle laughs in reply before turning to his daughter.

"I'm going to clean up, then I've got to study," Alexis says with mock solemnity. "I'm not sure _what's_ wrong with me, but I was so easily distracted by the littlest things yesterday."

"A police impersonator, rejects from _Goodfella's_ casting, a ninja maid, getting hauled in to the 12th, and a father too distracted to teach you chemistry," Castle ticks off on his fingers. "I'm disappointed in you, Daughter. That's all it takes to put you off your game?"

"The struggle against my inherited ADHD is a daily one, but I refuse to capitulate," Alexis volleys back.

"If that's the worst that you've inherited from me, you're truly blessed," Castle says as he rises from his chair and bends to kiss the top of her head. "I've got the dishes – you cooked. Why don't you hit the books and we'll think about something fun for tonight if your studying goes well?"

"Thanks, Dad," Alexis says as she stands and kisses his cheek. "I'm just going to pop down for a quick look at the water, then I'll get started."

"How about you, Beckett?" Castle asks, sounding normal to anyone who didn't know him well. "Kate, I mean," he clarifies while catching a raised brow from Jim. "And don't say 'help with dishes,'" he interrupts, knowing that's exactly what she was going to say. "You're a guest."

Unsure whether his refusal is due to his role as host or because he wants some time alone, Beckett doesn't object as strenuously as usual. "Well, if I'm banished from the kitchen, I might go check out the pool deck. It's too early to go in, but I didn't get much of a look last night."

"I'll join you there as soon as I've cleaned up," Castle replies with a small smile. Heartened by what sounded like warmth in his voice, Beckett stands and moves to clear her spot at the table until Castle shoos her toward the door. Stepping through the gap held open by Alexis, Beckett starts towards the pool until Alexis interjects. "Walk with me?" she asks.

Surprised and a little wary, Beckett falls into step beside Castle's daughter. She wonders if this is what her suspects feel like on their way from Holding to Interrogation.

"Is everything okay?" Alexis asks as Castle's yard transitions from sod to sand.

Beckett catches herself just before she starts talking. She was about to give a bland response, something like she'd give to a colleague who'd ask how she was doing as they passed in the hall. But after their talk yesterday, Alexis deserves a real answer.

"I don't know," Beckett admits with a sigh. "Today started well, but … we've just got a lot of old ghosts to overcome. Your dad's asked me some tough questions. My answers weren't great," she admits, wondering if this admission will incite a reaction from Alexis.

"Were you honest?" Alexis asks, then raises an open hand at Beckett's offended look. "Sorry," Alexis says. "This isn't really my business. I don't want to know what you talked about and I shouldn't have phrased that as a question. Maybe just some advice about Dad?" she asks.

Beckett relaxes a bit at Alexis' offer. She's having enough difficulty coping with these issues on her own, without opening up her talk to Alexis. Yes, she's is an important part of the equation going forward, but Beckett had started to fear that the lines were getting blurred. Thankfully, Alexis seems to have realized that she was closer to interference than support. Beckett nods and says, "Yes, please," happy to take whatever advice Alexis has to share.

"You heard what I had to say about Dad the other night. He's gotten himself hurt. A lot. My … many of the people in his life have hurt him by lying to him, deceiving him. So, he'll appreciate an honest answer more than anything else, even if it's uncomfortable," Alexis says.

"We've done 'uncomfortable,'" Beckett confesses with a sigh.

Alexis pauses for a moment to consider her words. "You seem like a very private person," Alexis ventures. "From what I've heard, I can understand why." Looking out at the water rather than at Beckett, Alexis seems to have second thoughts about this part of the discussion. "Look, I don't really know what I'm talking about. I don't have any experience with this stuff," she finishes uncomfortably.

"You might not have much dating experience," Beckett agrees, "but you know your dad. And, you know a bit about me. You can tell me what you were thinking if you'd like, Alexis. It's like your dad said this morning – it's just me, don't worry about how you say it, just talk and trust that things will work out."

"He's such an optimist," Alexis replies with a tone of indulgent exasperation. "Okay, fine. Here goes: I was trying to find a tactful way to say that you seem like someone who doesn't share much. Dad's been hurt by women who have lied to him and manipulated him. But I'm not sure that lies of omission are any better."

"Ouch," Beckett replies, but not comically. "That's a shot through the ten-ring," Beckett confesses, turning from Alexis to stare out at the horizon. "I don't share much. It's a hard habit to break."

"And maybe you can't," Alexis answers, looking again out at the water. "Maybe you and Dad just aren't a good match, despite your obvious attraction."

"It's that obvious, huh?" Beckett asks, trying to lighten their talk a bit but also curious.

"Only since the beginning," Alexis laughs. "Look, Kate, I'm not trying to discourage you. Dad said this is something he wants and I'm not going to get in the way. I might even help a little. But you're going to have to try, both of you."

"I know, Alexis," Beckett sighs. "It's daunting, you know? I'm going to have to change some bad habits and I'm not sure that it's realistic to assume that I can."

"That doesn't sound right," Alexis replies doubtfully. "If you didn't think you can change I don't think you'd be spending time with a therapist."

Well, that's a fair point, Beckett concedes with a tilt of her head. "We talked about that," she says while looking at Alexis. "About my therapist. So, your dad's in the loop," she offers, feeling good that she could show Alexis that she's making the effort. "And I guess you're right – my therapist is helping me. It's not quick, though."

"That's something else I don't know anything about," Alexis confesses. "Look, I've got to get to studying and Dad's going to freak out if he thinks that we're out here fighting or conspiring. So, I'll just leave you with this: think about Dad, how he was when you first arrested him," she says with a smirk of recollection. "And think about how he is now. That's a good change, right? And it didn't take that long, though I'm sure there were points that felt interminable," she says with a knowing chuckle. "Anyway, I'm just a kid, what do I know? To me it just seems as simple as deciding what you want and doing what it takes to get it. I'll probably learn otherwise when some insanely hot jock breaks my heart, but I'll save that for when Dad's not expecting it."

With a parting laugh at that thought, Alexis turns and pats Beckett on the shoulder. "Good luck, Kate," she says as she heads back toward the house.

* * *

Castle's wrestling with some kind of metal-framed contraption when she walks up to the pool deck from the beach about fifteen minutes later. Alexis really is a smart kid, she thinks, wondering if her relationship with Castle could be as simple as Alexis suggested. She gave herself a little extra time on the beach to think about that and about how she could talk to Castle. She only spent the first few minutes chastising herself, but the rest of the time went into figuring out how to jump – really and fully – into a relationship with him.

Castle's muttered "Son of a …," catches her attention as she looks up to see him shaking his hand vigorously, standing on the deck in a shaded area.

"Need some help there, partner?" she asks, now recognizing the frame Castle put together from metal tubes.

"Perfect timing, Beckett," he grouses good-naturedly, "now that the frame is assembled. I think I can handle hanging the hammock without unduly damaging myself."

"I have faith in you, Castle," she replies with a smile. "I'm sure you can succeed in hurting yourself despite the low odds."

"Just for that, you have to wait a turn," Castle says while he strings the hammock, testing it a bit before he's willing to trust it with his full weight. "Though, if you fan me while feeding me chilled grapes I might reconsider."

"Talk about low odds …," Beckett murmurs as she approaches.

"But not impossible," is how Castle chooses to interpret her comment. "There's still hope!"

Huffing a laugh at his ridiculousness, Beckett's happy that his mood seems lighter than when they returned from their walk. Choosing to act rather than think, Beckett steps into Castle and wraps her arms around him.

"Come on," Castle says as he steps out of the embrace. Beckett's momentarily worried, but he quickly puts her at ease. "I didn't wrestle with this blasted thing so that we could stand next to it." Sitting on the hammock, he swings his legs up then scoots to the side, very nearly flipping himself out of the hammock and onto the deck. Balance is restored when Beckett takes a place next to him. Apt analogy, she thinks to herself.

Castle's flat on his back, so Beckett rolls over and scoots down. She's lying half on top of him with her head pillowed where is arm meets his shoulder, her free arm thrown over his chest. Castle stretches the arm on the other side of her to push on a nearby pillar, starting a gentle rocking motion.

"Thank you," Beckett whispers, catching Castle's attention.

"For what?" he asks, looking genuinely confused.

"I know you're upset," Beckett says, hugging him. "But you didn't run. You held my hand, you entertained my dad, and you're giving us a chance to reconnect now. I've been thinking," she continues without pause, determined to take the initiative in this conversation, "about what you asked me – if I would have told you about my lie if you didn't know about it when we got together. My answer was honest. Everything I said this morning was honest. I don't know what I would've done."

She pauses for a moment, moving her arm so that she can start tracing patterns on Castle's chest while she talks. He's being quiet, giving her the time she needs. And maybe the physical contact is helping, because he hasn't tensed up yet in this conversation, despite his earlier reaction.

"I wish I could give you a better answer, Rick. That's what I've been thinking about – how much it bothers me that I can't start us off better. Do you know how many times I've worried about how to start a relationship?" she asks rhetorically, still tracing patterns on him idly. "I can't remember the last time," she confesses. "It's like you said before – I was always one foot out the door. If you don't expect something to last, why bother setting a strong foundation at the start? Why care about balance? Those relationships were on my terms, and they lasted until I didn't want them to."

Castle remains quiet, but relaxed. He's thinking about her words, maybe in light of some of his own past relationships. Grateful that he's remaining quiet, Beckett redoubles her intent to lead this conversation.

"So, now I'm in trouble," Beckett laments, a bit facetiously. It gets a little chuff of air from Castle, so he's following along. "Because I want our relationship to last. It's a new feeling and it scares me. I'm learning how to do this as we go along, and I've got some bad habits to break. It might be a bumpy ride. You're going to have to start working out more, because there are probably more Bundt cakes in your future."

"We might have to reserve those for special occasions," Castle replies as he holds her tight. "I've got a great track record of my own mistakes. I think I've been changing for the better, but I'll still screw up, tick you off, or annoy you. And baking isn't really my strength in the kitchen."

"No kidding," Beckett replies with a laugh, embracing a humorous tangent to reward them both for their efforts.

"Hey! What do you mean? When have I baked for you?" Castle asks, trying to figure out what he did to earn this teasing.

"Let's see, Castle – a culinary avenue that depends on adhering to precise measurements and temperatures, where the effects of experimentation aren't known until long after it's too late to adjust. That doesn't sound like a good match to your usual MO," Beckett says lightly, but with a brow raised high enough for him to notice.

"That's … pretty accurate, actually," Castle concedes, sounding impressed. "What are you, a detective or something?" As she smirks in response, Castle signals his return to their discussion with a long sigh.

"It's my turn to say thanks," he says, using his free hand to reach over and clasp hers. "For talking to me. I got a little distracted this morning, too wrapped up in the scenarios I'd imagined for us to realize that we're here now. Getting upset about what you might have done in a different scenario seems pretty stupid when what I want is right here."

"It's not stupid, Rick," Beckett disagrees, uncomfortable that he seems to be letting her off the hook again. "Things might not have happened that way, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't make the same mistakes in ways that will matter to us. I'm going to try, but I need your help. You can't be this easy on me. I need you to push me on this. It's like Alexis said – you shouldn't have to put up with being hurt just because you think you can take it. Don't let me off easy."

"You know, Beckett," Castle muses, "when I realized that you heard Alexis and I talking, I never thought you'd take her side. How am I supposed to argue against my partner _and_ my daughter?"

He said it jokingly, but Beckett replies seriously. "You're not always supposed to argue, Castle," she says, nuzzling into him a bit to take some of the sting out of her words. "Especially when we're right."

"I hear you, Beckett," Castle replies, his tone growing as serious as hers. "I don't disagree – we need to do this right if we want this to last, and that's on me as much as it is on you. I guess my point is that I don't think there's much reason to dwell on our pasts. We've both done things we regret, but those mistakes brought us here. I don't want to taint the beginning of us with distant memories when we have so many great things ahead of us." There's no denying the notes of pride and hope in his tone, and Beckett's a little embarrassed that she tears up when he turns his head to kiss her forehead.

"So we learn and we look forward. I'll try, Beckett. It's going to be uncomfortable pushing you and I know it'll make you angry, but we'll find a balance," Castle says with conviction.

"We will," Beckett readily agrees, willing to share this view of the future. "We always do. In the spirit of that discussion, there's something else I wanted to talk about with you," she says, steeling herself for another tough discussion.

"My turn to guess," Castle replies. "Is this 'Exhibit Two' from this morning's discussion?"

"Yes, exactly," Beckett agrees with a nod. "We were talking about things that I've done that frustrate my therapist. Lying and then sitting on my lie was the first thing. A lack of empathy was the second."

"What?!" Castle replies, trying to sit up in the hammock only to be held down by Beckett. "That's utterly ridiculous. That's one of the things that make you such an incredible detective."

"Well, he'd try to get me to see it as selfishness without calling it that, but it comes down to the same thing," Beckett says by way of explanation. "It's what Alexis mentioned the other night – how much thought did I put into what _you_ needed after I was shot?"

"That's _still_ ridiculous," Castle replies, not mollified by the adjusted discussion. "_You almost died_, Beckett. That buys you a little time to get your head straight."

"Yes, 'a _little_ time,' as you say, Rick. Don't you remember how angry you were when I finally came back?" she asks, knowing well that he does. "How much easier would that have been if I'd even just texted you to say 'Doing well' or 'Looking forward to coming back soon'?"

Castle's about to speak, but he reins himself in. Good – he's not going to give her a pass on this, Beckett applauds. "It would have meant a lot to me," he confesses with a long sigh.

"And how much better would you have felt if I'd let you know that Josh and I were finished at the beginning of the summer?" Beckett asks without allowing him time to reply. "I _knew_ what the felt like, Castle, after watching you walk away with Gina. But I didn't do anything, didn't think about what must've been running through your head. With this role reversal, I'm lucky that I didn't come back from the cabin to find out that you'd jumped into something with your own version of Josh."

"Eh, he was cute and all, but not really my type," Castle shrugs from his prone position. "But you're right. I tortured myself with images of him caring for you, doing the things I wish I could've done. I still would've worried about you, but it would've been … less awful if I'd have known what was going on. Which makes me feel like an ass, because I should've just been happy that you were healing."

"And there you have it – Exhibit Two," Beckett says with sad finality, "evidence of my ability to frustrate my therapist and your sincere affections. I'm so sorry, Castle," she says, feeling like the words are inadequate.

"Kate, you know what I was thinking about during brunch?" Castle asks. He takes her efforts to cuddle into him as a signal to continue. "I started thinking about how lucky we are to have a chance at all. Coonan pulls the trigger first. You don't make it to the bathtub before your apartment explodes. Lockwood gets the drop on us. Pulling _all _of the damn wires turns out to be a dumb-ass idea," he says in mocking exasperation of his in-field bomb technician internship. "So many things could have prevented us from being here."

"We are blessed," Castle concludes. "How can that not mean that we're meant to grow old and happy together? How can we let some hurt feelings and bad timing succeed where guns, bombs, vampires, mafia goons, kidnappers, ex-wives, an ex-husband, and even Captain Gates have failed?"

"Castle…," Beckett says in appreciative exasperation. "I want you to listen closely, Rick," she says after pausing to appreciate his conviction. "This might be the only time you hear me say this. Are you ready?" she says with a pause. Then, with great formality, "You're right."

"What?" Castle replies. "Can you say that again once I get my phone out to record it?"

"We can do this, Rick," Beckett says as she ignores him. "We _will_ do this."

Propping herself up to seal her proclamation with a kiss, Beckett gets lost in a haze of heady emotion. After several minutes, a small but annoying part of her brain reminds her that Castle's daughter is around, that she's not entirely on board with this situation, and that seeing her dad making out might not be a great way to win her over. With some regret, Beckett downshifts and tucks herself back into Castle with a contented sigh.

Cuddled up against him, Beckett can feel him relax beneath her. The weight of their emotional discussions on top of a bizarrely stressful week and his early-morning wake-up call are claiming him now that they've made it through their trials intact.

"I'm pretty tired, Beckett," Castle confesses. "Getting up early, _not _sleeping on the beach. But I guess I'm already asleep and dreaming because we've had a meaningful discussion without subtext, you're pressed on top of me after talking about our future together and kissing me within an inch of my life, and I distinctly heard you say that I was right about something."

"Rest, Rick," Beckett says softly as she rubs his chest as she did this morning, wishing his shirt was gone now as it was then. "You've earned a break," she says with a gentle kiss to his cheek. "And you must have more interesting things to dream about," she says while drawing her nails across his chest just enough to tease out a smile as he drops off to sleep.

* * *

"Welcome back, again," Castle says as Beckett slowly surfaces from her own lovely dream. Olfactory prompts are a wonderful stimulant and being curled into Castle certainly put her on the path for her own interesting dreams.

"Mmmmm," Beckett sighs as she stretches like a cat, working her joints loose before leaning over to give Castle a kiss. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty, let's go find our mysterious benefactor."

"Our who?" Castle says, still coming awake himself.

"Rick, it's at least mid-afternoon. We should be sporting some odd sunburns after sleeping out here, but someone," Beckett says, pointing to the patio umbrella next to them, "was watching out for us."

"Yeah, I should go and check on Alexis. And I've been a terrible host to your dad," Castle says, with both concerns warming Beckett.

"Castle, you don't need to entertain my dad. He's happy just being here. And I'm happy having him here, seeing him get along so well with you and Alexis. Thanks for inviting him."

"'Course," Castle replies lightly. "Your dad's good people, Kate. He's quiet, but I enjoy the sharp wit lurking beneath the modest façade."

That earns him another kiss before Beckett jumps out of the hammock to playfully dodge Castle's attempt to wrap her up and delay their departure. Her quick reflexes have dire consequences, though, as the unbalanced hammock lurches to the side, dumping Castle face-first onto the patio deck.

"Rick! Are you alright?" Beckett asks, trying desperately not to laugh.

"Your giggles are not therapeutic, Beckett," Castle grumbles as he musters his energy to flop over onto his back. Noting a distinct lack of sympathy, Castle reaches out and gingerly manipulates his nose as if trying to set it back in place after suffering a break.

"Is this why they call you the 'White Whale,' Castle?" Beckett asks as she walks around him. "Help, help!" she cries out in a mocking falsetto. "Get more people, we need to push him back in the water!"

"And you wonder about my ego," Castle serves back as he grabs her outstretched hand to finally rise from the deck. "I've got to keep re-inflating it to counter all the _pokes_," he yelps out the last word as Beckett's finger to his side anticipated and punctuated his whine.

"So, you're opposed to poking?" Beckett says in a sultry voice as she steps into him and gently rubs the spot she jabbed. "That's … disappointing," she whispers in his ear before spinning away, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the house.

Castle's verbal communication skills are just coming back online as they tumble through the door to find Alexis and Jim sitting at the table, having suspended their conversation to cast near-identical raised brows.

"_Finally_," Alexis drawls out. "I'm not sure why we came out to the beach if you're going to spend all of your time looking at the back of your eyelids," she teases.

"Pumpkin, you know how conducive beach air is to naps," Castle defends himself. "One of the great things about coming out here is to sleep next to the pool or on the beach."

"I know, Dad, I was just teasing," Alexis says with a laugh. "Somehow, I'll get over my feelings of abandonment," she says dramatically as she moves the back of her hand to her forehead as if about to swoon.

"Thanks for the free performance, Mother," Castle says, earning a glare from his daughter. "Besides, with me ignoring my social obligations, you should have stepped up and been a good host to Jim here," Castle says by way of apologizing.

"Don't give her any trouble, Rick," Jim laughs, lightening Beckett's heart, "I've only been awake for about half-an-hour. You weren't kidding about the soporific effects of sea air."

"So, Alexis, do we have you to thank for the patio umbrella?" Beckett asks.

"See, Dad? I was being a good host. You're lucky Kate was there. If it was just you, I would've been tempted to forego the umbrella and indulge in a little sun art," Alexis says with a devious smile.

"Sun art?" Jim asks, though Beckett thinks she knows where this is going, since she's familiar with Castle's shenanigans.

"I prefer to think of it as 'selective application of sunscreen,'" Castle says with an affected air. "Alexis here can really rock the 'stache," he says with a laugh.

"I still owe you for that," Alexis grumbles. "It took me days to get rid of it!"

"Oh, no, Daughter Dearest," Castle shoots back. "We're even and you signed an armistice agreement. Do you really want to provoke the return of hostilities?"

Both Becketts are grinning at this exchange and neither can contain their curiosity, but the detective speaks first. "So, Alexis, what brought him to the negotiation table?" she asks, wondering how Alexis exacted her revenge for the mustache incident.

"So, I'm walking along the beach," Castle starts talking, anxious to deliver his own version of the story, "early one morning to wake myself after writing all night. I run into some nice looking ladies and we chat for a bit, and they're all giggles. _Good day_, I think to myself. I keep walking and it happens again, but this time the ladies can't keep their eyes off my chest. _Better day_, I think as I continue my walk. Then I run into an elderly couple who start laughing. The lady says '_I'll say it does!_' and the man says '_So does beer!_' and they walk off chuckling. So, I open the unbuttoned shirt I'd thrown on for my walk and look down."

"And …?" Beckett asks as Castle's paused in the story.

"I wrote '_Food goes here'_ across Dad's chest, with an arrow pointing at his belly," Alexis says with a smirk.

"And a smiley face," Castle adds without a smile.

"And a smiley face," Alexis agrees with a nod. And a smile.

Chuckling at the image, especially at how Castle's face must have looked when he realized what happened, Beckett looks over to see her father chuckling, too. "Castle, I'm amazed that Alexis was kind enough to move the umbrella over for us," she says while shaking her head and smiling.

"Trust me, Kate, if I could've shaded you while leaving Dad in the sun, we might be sitting with a tomato right now," Alexis laughs.

Turning to Jim, Castle adopts an aggrieved tone. "Are they always this much trouble?"

"Son," Jim says while he puts a hand on Castle's shoulder, "I'm an old man. I've lived through many things, learned many lessons. I know _far_ better than to answer that question. You're on your own."

As Castle harrumphs at his abandonment, Alexis offers a fist-bump to Jim. The whole scene is so ridiculously perfect that Beckett needs a distraction before she gets emotional in front of everyone. Castle has no way of appreciating it, but a "son" from Jim Beckett isn't a common or flippant salutation. It speaks of comfort, confidence, trust. And then to see a casual connection between her dad and Alexis – it's just more evidence that this could all work out.

"Anyone up for a walk on the beach?" she suggests. "I'd like to spend some time with you all," she adds, unable to stop herself.

* * *

This time, Beckett can comment on the view as they return to the house after a walk on the beach.

"Your house is gorgeous, Castle," she compliments while squeezing the hand she's held for the majority of their walk, feeling wild and brazen by doing it in front of her father and Alexis. "It looks even better from the beach than it does from the drive in."

Alexis casts her a beaming smile while Jim adds his agreement. Uncharacteristically, Castle plays it down. "We like it," he says simply. "It's a good place to rest and recharge when life in the city gets a little too hectic. I'm just sorry it took me so long to get you both out here."

"We're here now, that's all that matters," Beckett replies with a wink to drive home the duality of her response.

"So, what's next – the pool?" Castle asks the group as they approach the back of the house.

"Sounds good, but I don't have the time," Alexis replies with a coy look to her father. "I have a date tonight."

"What?!" Castle replies, shocked both by his daughter's announcement and by the instant evaporation of his plans for a nice family evening. "Who is he? And Beckett, can I borrow your gun?"

Rolling her eyes, Alexis ignores her father's histrionics as she walks over to Jim and slides an arm through his. "You said I should be a good host, so I've got reservations at Nick &amp; Toni's for Jim and I. Sorry, Dad, but they were booked up, so you and Kate will have to deal with Stone Creek Inn. But your reservation is before ours, so you two had better get moving."

"Get the feeling we've been set up?" Beckett asks of Castle, who looks at her with a nod. "Definitely."

"You two kids need some time together," Jim says as he pats Alexis' arm. "It's been a rough week and a tough time for you both. Go out and have some fun. We can take care of ourselves and you both deserve a break."

Castle looks conflicted, jammed between feeling excited for a date with Beckett and feeling guilty for not giving Alexis enough attention. "Please, Dad," Alexis says, easily reading the turmoil on his face. "Go enjoy yourself. There's no press here, no precinct or bad guys. Just go relax and spend time together."

"Thank you, Alexis," Castle says quietly, touched. All four of them know what's happening here – this isn't just Alexis setting them up for a nice evening. This is Alexis encouraging her father, sharing his hope that Castle and Beckett can build something together. And Jim looks like he's been assisting.

"How long have we got?" Castle asks his daughter.

"Two hours, and it's a bit of a drive so you'd better get moving," Alexis replies. Then, anticipating his next question, she cuts him off. "We've got a car coming to pick us up, so don't worry about us."

Releasing Beckett's hand, Castle walks over to Alexis, who breaks away from Jim. Wrapping her in a tight hug, he whispers in a voice that still carries. "Best. Daughter. Ever."

After that, it's a whirlwind of frenetic preparations. Beckett's a little disgusted with her sappy self for wishing that Castle would dry her hair, but he's busy getting himself ready. When she's finished with her hair and makeup, Beckett's surprised by a light tapping on her door. Shocked that Castle would be ready before her, she opens the door to see her father instead.

"Hey, Katie-bug, you almost ready?" Jim asks lightly. "Rick's downstairs pacing a rut in the floor," he says with a chuckle, "so I'm here on a mercy mission."

Rolling her eyes, Beckett turns to the closet to grab her sweater. They'd left so quickly yesterday and without any plans for swanky outings, but she thinks she's managed to assemble a look that's slightly professional but still alluring. As she turns to head out, she's surprised that her dad's stepped into the room rather than headed toward the stairs. "Dad?"

A bit shyly, Jim reaches out for a hug. And this isn't a quick greeting or departing hug, but a warm embrace that she'd expect more from Castle. It's been a long time since her dad wrapped her up like this and she quickly realizes how much she's missed it.

"You look lovely. It's so great to see you happy, Katie," Jim says, sounding a little emotional. "I know Rick feels a little bad about leaving Alexis and I, but I'm not sure he understands yet that nothing could make me feel better than watching you smile like you have today. He'll understand after his daughter tortures him a bit."

"Thanks, dad," Beckett whispers, consciously trying to call up some of her fierce detective veneer. If she gets emotional now, she'll be a wreck for her outing with Castle. It's taken them so long to get here, but she never realized that meaningfully committing to a romantic relationship with Castle might dislodge other barriers she's constructed. It should terrify her, but this hint of a recaptured closeness with her father strikes a chord deep within her.

Linking her arm in his, Beckett lets her father escort her downstairs. As they approach, she sees Alexis talking to Castle, probably trying to calm him down. He's so distracted that he doesn't notice them until they are just feet away, when he turns and his eyes light up as his jaw drops.

"You're gorgeous," he says, sounding awestruck. Ridiculously, she can feel herself blushing. Apparently, something about this weekend has knocked them back 20 years. She laughs a bit, imagining braces, knobby knees, and a protuberant Adam's apple.

"Thanks, Castle," she replies shyly, placing a light kiss on his cheek. "You're so handsome," she whispers into his ear as she watches his chest inflate.

As they bustle themselves out the door, Beckett's again caught by the displacement of the evening. Despite their circumstances, it feels like Castle showed up at her dad's house to escort her to the school dance. Completing the illusion, Alexis and Jim stand next to each other and wave from the front door as the car departs for Stone Creek Inn.

As they drive off, Castle clears his throat and casts her a sidelong look. "Sorry I forgot the corsage."

And just like that, any building tension is shattered, with the laughter at his joke and the comfort from knowing he's on the same page guiding them into the evening.

* * *

A/N2: This diversion in the Hamptons is taking longer than I thought, but we're almost back on schedule. As I mentioned before the Becketts and Castles decided to retreat to the beach, we're almost done with this story. The next chapter will probably finish the story, unless they talk too much at dinner. At most, we're two chapters from the end I imagine.

Many thanks, too, for the kind words on the home front. The news on that front looks positive, so kind thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: _Still_ out at the Hamptons. But the last chapter set out there. More below.

* * *

"Castle, this place is beautiful," Beckett sighs as they pull through the trees and approach the large white country building housing the inn.

"Wait'll you see the inside," Castle promises before he parks the car and escorts her to the door with a gentle hand on her back. There's something in his look that catches her eye, that playfulness that she's come to appreciate.

Walking down the long, narrow barroom on the way to the dining area, Beckett takes in the ancient mahogany bar and knows that her suspicions are correct. Turning quickly to whisper in his ear before they reach the dining area, Beckett leans in. "Might this possibly be someplace with a _story_?" she sing-songs.

Waiting until they've been seated and ordered drinks, Castle puts his elbows on the table and leans in, looking left and right to create an illusion of confidentiality and secrecy.

"This building dates back to the early 1930s and has what the locals politely call a 'checkered history,'" Castle intonates in a gravelly whisper. "It's been run by a French chef since we bought our place, but back in the day it was reputedly a speakeasy and a bordello famous enough to draw traffic from the city."

"Are there any secret tunnels off the wine cellar hiding alcoholic lost treasures?" Beckett asks with a grin.

"You distract our waiter and I'll go find out," Castle says with a tilted eyebrow and daring look.

"However shall I do that?" Beckett asks in her own raspy voice, blinking eyes wide with faux innocence as her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

"The tragic flaw in my plan," Castle declares with a besotted smile. "Anything like that might distract the waiter but it'll also guarantee that I'd never leave."

With a laugh, Beckett reaches out to take his hand. "I don't know, Rick. The Haunt, this Inn – you seem to have a passion for places of ill repute."

"You know I like a good story," Castle says, forgoing any prurient responses in deference to the mood of the evening. "I love finding old places like this and imagining the stories of people who've been here. Back in the 30's, Tammany Hall was fighting for its survival. In '32, the Tammany mayor of New York City, Jimmy Walker, was forced out of office for bribery. That's when La Guardia was elected on his way to becoming the first anti-Tammany mayor to win re-election. Can you imagine the plotting that must've occurred here? A shadowy brothel with bathtub gin, tucked away in the woods, with the Tammany leadership meeting in cloistered rooms trying to continue their battle with FDR after his election to the presidency? Sex, politics, alcohol, greed, all in the shadow of World War II? The narrative possibilities are innumerable."

Castle probably can't appreciate how adorable he looks right now, Beckett thinks. He's gotten himself excited just setting the stage, his eyes alight with the stories he could tell, expansive arm gestures doing a better job at conveying his interest than in aiding the recitation.

"You're amazing, you know," Beckett says. She's so caught up in the moment that she doesn't even pause at stroking his ego. Shockingly, he looks confused rather than smug. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"You make it so easy," Beckett explains, "to forget that you're an incredible author. You're off solving murders or being a loving father to Alexis – either one of those is a full-time calling. But, somehow, you also manage to write extraordinary books while always retaining your passion for stories."

He's blushing! Rick Castle, he of the ready quip and proud confidence, is actually blushing and looking down.

"Thief," he grumbles quietly. "That's my word to describe you. Let's not sully it. Anything extraordinary about my writing comes back to you."

"You were my favorite author long before we met, Rick," Beckett confesses, eager for the chance to share this with him. It's something she's saved and protected carefully during their time together. Sharing it now seems – and she just knows Castle would love this – fated. "Not initially – what young woman would listen to advice about reading selections from her mother? No, I hid behind Pasternak and Tolstoy with my nose so high in the air that I couldn't read anything that wasn't on the ceiling."

Beckett pauses a minute to enjoy that image and the feel of the play of their linked hands. This next part will be difficult, but he deserves to hear it.

"After mom was killed, I was in a dark place. We all were. Dad looked for a way to turn the memories off, but I tried to find ways to connect with mom. Everything I could remember her mentioning or recommending I pursued then like I pursue suspects now," she says while looking into his eyes, which are wide and focused solely on her. "It didn't matter how mundane. A favorite appetizer at this restaurant. A different way to come home from the library. Even her ideas about how to fold fitted sheets. I tried everything, including letting go of my cultural arrogance and admitting the possibility that someone other than a Russian master could write."

Recognizing the treasure he's been given, Castle sits raptly and quietly, playing with her hand in a way that's probably subconsciously reminding them of the contact.

"So, don't you credit me for your stories, Mr. Castle," she says with a teasing challenge. "You were extraordinary long before I came along." Then, because she just can't stop herself, she lets one more admission fly. "And if I was ever enough to deserve that description, Castle, it's because you helped make me that way."

It's almost as if the physical connection to his hand has given Beckett insight into his thoughts. As she looks at him following her confession, Beckett can see the emotions that would normally be masked. There's the playful diversion, the temptation to use humor to pull them from this conversation. There's the shocked disbelief that his normally reticent partner confided in him. There's the buried insecurity about his writing and what it might actually mean to people. And there's the hope – the desperate desire that this conversation, these words signal the growth of the relationship he's wanted for so long.

Their silent communion is broken by the arrival of the waiter, who takes their orders quietly and efficiently, as if concerned he's in danger of serving as a lightning rod for the energy that crackles around these two guests.

As the waiter leaves, Beckett wonders if it isn't time to lighten the conversation a little bit. "So, Castle," she says, her tone marking a new topic. "After Vinnie's, should I expect the chef to come bustling out to greet you with a big hug?"

Laughing, Castle gives her a quick look of thanks both for the topic change and for the attempt to soften the memories of Vinnie's in their minds. "I'm not sure that his wife will feel particularly threatened if he does. Besides, you'd sooner see him boiling a chicken or using a microwave than come out during the dinner rush," he chuckles. "He'll come out, but only on days he's not running the kitchen. It's pretty smart, actually."

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks with curiosity.

"Say that he came out to say hi," Castle postulates. "The guy behind me in the school tie? He's a foreign currency trader – one of the most comprehensively boring people I've ever met, but he's slavishly devoted to ideas of rank and title. So, after visiting me, Jean would need to say hi to Theodore. And then someone else, over and over. This is the Hamptons – there are politicos, actors, I-bankers, and minor celebutantes," he says while shrugging and accepting the derisive label, "all over. If Jean left the kitchen, he'd never get back."

"But it sounds like you know him well," Beckett follows up, starting to get a little uncomfortable with the social environment and how often Castle's been here. Well, not so much how often, she admits, but with whom.

"He offers cooking classes," Castle says with a smile, "and Alexis and I have taken several. They're a blast. If we can ever get you out of the precinct long enough to partake, we should think about it."

"That sounds great," Beckett says while trying to sound enthusiastic. Luckily, the arrival of their first course distracts them. At least that's her assumption until Castle starts talking again.

"Stay with me, Beckett," Castle says with some gentle humor. "We're going to crash into relics from our history now and again, but we'll be fine." Reaching out with his left hand to reconnect with her while they nibble on their appetizers, Castle works to put her at ease. "Let me tell you another story about this place," he offers, continuing at Beckett's gentle nod.

"I've spent a lot of time finding ways for Alexis and I to connect and spend time together. We actually started the cooking classes when she was young. We've spent a lot of time here," he says, looking around the dining room with appreciation. "We were among the earliest clientele, so we've always felt welcome. It's been a special place for us."

"I'm not especially proud of this," he confesses when he continues, "but we didn't share it with anyone. Including Gina," he says with an uncomfortable shrug. "She's been here once – when the issues about my parenting choices arose, she forced the issue. I didn't even know where we had reservations when we left the house. So, I wasn't in a great mood when she pulled in here. It was _not_ a comfortable dinner."

Continuing when she remains quiet, Castle closes the conversation. "But I've lived here a long time. There are places I've been with other people. We can find new places, or create new memories at old places. We can do whatever we want to do."

"Thank you, Castle," Beckett replies, glad both that he recognized her discomfort and provided some confidence as they look forward. "So, the fact that Alexis chose this place for our dinner…"

"Is one of the reasons I was so anxious to thank her," he confirms. "It means that she's trying to help. And it's probably something we shouldn't mention to Gina anytime soon," he says with an embarrassed laugh.

"Then I won't mention it during our lunch outing next week," Beckett replies.

The look of shock and panic on Castle's face is priceless, Beckett thinks as she wishes that she could keep a straight face. But today's just been too full of emotional moments, so she can feel her façade crack as the smile escapes.

"Not cool, Beckett," Castle says with a shake of his head. Then, after a moment's contemplation, he gives a little shiver.

"Sorry, Castle," Beckett says, chagrined. "Have I ruined the mood?"

"I'll survive," he replies dramatically, showing some of the family mettle.

"Actually," Beckett picks up, happy for the unintentional segue, "I did want to apologize about what I said at dinner, just not this one." When Castle tilts his head, she gives his hand another squeeze and dives in. "I want to apologize, again, for how things went at Vinnie's. But more than that, I want you to know how much that conversation meant to me."

Placing her fork on her plate so she can take a sip of wine without breaking their connection, Beckett plows ahead, trying to inject a little humor. "I would never have imagined that the most romantic thing anyone ever said to me would start with '_have you ever studied experimental economics_,'" she says with a laugh. "I told," she lowers her voice slightly, out of habit, "Dr. Burke about it, how sweet it was, even though I know I'm no lottery prize. Of course, I also told him that I didn't tell you that and instead went on the offensive because the whole thing terrified me." Looking up from their linked hands to see his rapt attention, she finishes with an encouraging smile. "I'm still a little scared, but I'm looking forward to us."

"So am I," Castle confirms simply. "We're going to be great."

"We are," Beckett agrees, lifting his hand to give it a kiss and shocking Castle in the process. "It's thanks to you, you know," she says to rouse him. "You've taken such good care of me along the way, and you've been so forgiving of my mistakes. I'm going to work hard to justify your faith."

"Be careful," Castle says, far more seriously than she would've expected. "I fell in love with the woman I've come to know over the last three years. I'm looking forward to addressing our challenges together, but I'm going to be lost if you change too much. We need to change together, not for each other."

"I'm not Gina, assuming things will change significantly as we move forward," Beckett says, feeling like it's important to make sure the distinction is clear. "I want to make myself better, but you know me, Castle – if the last two weeks have proved anything, it's that you know me better than I know myself. I mentioned that to Dr. Burke, too."

"Sounds like he got an earful," Castle says easily, again giving them the opportunity to lighten the discussion. Before Beckett can reply, the waiter glides in to remove their plates. The gentle interruption provides her with an opportunity to think about a follow-up to Castle's comment. Given how well things have gone so far tonight, she decides to be bold.

"He heard it all, Castle," she confesses with her own smirk. "I might've been a little over-dramatic about it, rattling off the list of things from my _situation_," she says with a lowered voice, before returning to normal volume, "through your USB drive, including everything from our talk at Vinnie's. He looked more than a little nervous when I finished my rant and bumped back his next appointment before we started talking," she says with a chuff.

As if she needed confirmation of Castle's investment in their relationship, he provides it here again. Forgoing every opportunity to joke or to exercise his curiosity and pry into the details, Castle is wholly focused on listening to her, his wide blue eyes clearly conveying both his interest and support. Forget Gina or Beckett's worries about others – she has the feeling that the Rockettes, or even a troupe of Elvis impersonators, could parade past the table right now and Castle wouldn't bat an eye.

"There's one thing we didn't talk about, though," Beckett confesses, further encouraged by Castle's quiet attention. "I didn't know about it yet, because I didn't see Fitz until after my time with Burke. But when I met with Fitz and returned the USB drive, I noticed that the sealed letter in my folder was gone."

Castle sits back a bit in his chair, though not far enough to pull their hands apart. With a sigh, he explains. "After Vinnie's … well, it didn't seem like something I should leave in there. It didn't seem like something you wanted," he finishes simply.

Shaking her head vigorously, Beckett needs to correct this conclusion quickly. "How many times have you seen me cry, Rick? I've known Fitz for less than two weeks and he's seen it happen _twice _– when I read the anonymous bequests in your will and when I realized that you removed the letter to 'My dearest Kate.' It _is_ something I wanted – something I still want."

"Then it's yours," Castle says simply. "It's in my office at the loft, you can take it whenever you'd like. But maybe you'd entertain a suggestion?" he asks earnestly and waits for her immediate nod to continue. "You won't find the letter as surprising now as you might've when you first saw it," he says with a smile. "Maybe it'd be more powerful if you save it for some time when your doubts are getting to you, or I've upset you, or you're feeling the need to get away? Why don't you take it when we get back tomorrow night and you can decide when or if you'd like to read it."

Not long ago, his suggestion probably would've set her off, stirred her temper with the presumption that she might have doubts or fears about pursuing their relationship. Now, it's one more proof of how well he knows her and how carefully he's treading considering that he's already confessed to wanting a wedding sometime in the future.

"Thanks, Castle," Beckett says, hoping that he understands that her use of his surname isn't a retreat, but instead a recognition of the comfort she's come to find in it. "It's out of the way, though, right? The CSU team wouldn't have come across it when processing the loft, would they?"

"I don't think so," Castle says with a gentle smile. "It's not got your last name on it, so I'd expect that they'd check with me before opening any personal correspondence. Besides, it's lying flat on an upper shelf, so it's not easily visible and not near where any of the action took place yesterday."

"If it's out of sight, how will _I_ find it?" Beckett asks lightly with a roll of her eyes, trying to get back to teasing.

"Easy," Castle replies with his own devilish smile. "It's beneath a cracked beaker."

Of course he kept the beaker, Beckett realizes. She imbued that beaker with the weight and history of their formative years together – there's no way Castle would've discarded a symbol like that.

Beckett's startled from her thoughts by the arrival of their entrees, which look divine and smell even better. Glancing up, she sees on Castle's face the same look he gives her whenever he brings her a cup of coffee or pastry that he knows she'll particularly enjoy. Her first bite proves him right – with food like this, she can appreciate why he's come here for years. Their conversation lags as they enjoy their meal and the quiet intimacy they've built so far tonight.

"I told Fitz that I wanted to cook dinner for him and his wife or take them out to dinner," Beckett says to restart their conversation as they finish their entrees. "I want to say thanks. Will you join us?"

"Of course I will," he happily agrees. "I've got a lot of reasons to thank Fitz," he says while gazing at Beckett.

"Excellent," Beckett replies before adopting a tougher voice. "But this is my show, Castle. I owe my thanks to all of you, so just go along, okay? You've already done so much."

"I'm sitting in an elegant restaurant with a beautiful woman," Castle replies cheekily. "What better thanks could I hope for?"

"Don't distract me, Castle," Beckett tries to admonish through her smile. "You were willing to help regardless of how things went between us, even when it looked like they weren't going well. So, be good and let me thank you."

Grinning mischievously, Beckett can see the moment Castle decides to curb his urge to play. "As you wish, Detective."

"So," Beckett asks, taking on another potentially touchy topic, "should I invite Debbie, too?"

"I'm surprised at you, Beckett," Castle replies. "We're _finally_ out on a date and you want to talk about another woman?"

"_Was_ she another woman?" Beckett asks with a raised brow.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Castle answers with a laugh. "I wouldn't be if I'd tried anything." Beckett's lack of a response prompts a question from Castle. "This isn't just about my past – there's something else bothering you about this, isn't there?"

"I guess I'm just … confused. And maybe a little jealous," Beckett confesses, afraid to look at Castle and see him gloating or preening. But he's not – he looks perplexed. "You've called me extraordinary and based a character on me, but here's a gorgeous woman, a PI who's an accomplished researcher with formidable combat skills. Castle, she took those guys out in the blink of an eye – I couldn't have done that. So I guess I'm just wondering why me and not her?"

"Beckett, some day you'll believe me when I say that no one compares to you. I've known it since I met you and every day it's even more apparent," Castle declares. "_Anyone_ pales in comparison. But I'll tell you a bit about Debbie and maybe that'll help?"

At her nod, Castle continues. "Remember our first case," he asks, "when we went through some of my disturbing fan mail? That wasn't the first time I've done that with the NYPD."

And _she's_ the one with secrets and layers? "What happened?" Beckett asks.

"It wasn't uncommon to get letters from fans who were a little too invested in me or my characters, or who resented me for my success. You saw some of that back on the Tisdale case," Castle explains. "Just after she turned six, I started getting some letters about Alexis. They were … disturbing. I went to the NYPD, but the stalking laws weren't strong enough to do anything and the letters weren't deemed to be sufficiently threatening for further action. Then…," Castle trails off before regrouping. "Then, the letters included pictures. Alexis in the school playground. Alexis and I getting ice cream. It was a scary time."

"Which precinct did you go to?" Beckett asks, already getting fired up. "Who did you talk to?"

"It wasn't their fault, Beckett. The laws didn't give them much latitude to help. So, I looked elsewhere," he says quietly. "I was working with people from the CIA and DOD for Storm, so I asked around. Debbie was the third person I interviewed and the first one I could imagine protecting Alexis. She was military the first time she helped us. She was dishonorably discharged shortly thereafter, so I helped her get her PI business off the ground."

"I take it the reason for her discharge didn't dissuade you from letting her near Alexis," Beckett infers, wanting more of the story.

"Debbie doesn't talk much about herself…," Castle begins, before Beckett cuts him off.

"But you like stories, and you think you've figured hers out," she says peremptorily. "Come on, Castle, _I_ didn't talk much about myself and you profiled me right at the start, with what I can now admit was disturbing accuracy. So what's Debbie's story?"

"Yes, Detective, I think I've worked out her story. Just between us, though, right?" At her nod, Castle continues in a soft, sympathetic voice. "I suspect that she was abused as a girl, probably by someone close to her and probably from a young age," he says, prompting a speculative nod from Beckett. "It makes sense based on some of the things we've discussed. It would also explain her discomfort with even minor forms of physical connection or intimacy, and why she was so vigilant in protecting Alexis."

"But," he continues, "you've seen her – she's a beautiful, self-assured woman. It's far too easy to imagine a man, maybe a superior officer, making aggressive moves or assuming that her expressed preferences were a brush-off. She's not one who would react well to unwanted physical advances. If she got booted for defending herself, even in ways that others might consider excessive, I don't see anything 'dishonorable' about that."

"I don't want to offend you, Rick," Beckett says, wondering how to pursue this topic without doing exactly that, when Castle interrupts.

"But you're wondering how I managed to keep my hands off?" he asks with his signature roguish grin. "Thanks for the vote of confidence in my decency and self-control," he says facetiously with a dramatic eye roll. "But, she was great with Alexis and I wasn't going to jeopardize that. Besides," he adds, "she was setting up her PI business right after my divorce with Gina. Staying away from women wasn't difficult in the immediate wake of that disaster."

"Did you ever catch whoever was sending the letters?" Beckett asks, knowing that this is not a romantic topic but wanting to get to the bottom of this disturbing tale.

"No," Castle answers with a sigh. "The letters just stopped. I'd like to think that whoever it was got help. But I live in fear that there's someone in jail right now who'll resume these efforts upon release. It's one of the reasons I'm pretty protective of Alexis and one of the reasons I'm still working with Debbie."

"Castle, you should have told me," Beckett admonishes, heartsick about this situation and her lack of awareness about it.

"It happened long before I knew you. And after we met, I didn't want your interest in my family to be professional," Castle replies with an embarrassed shrug. "When you're with us, I want you _with_ us, not on duty."

"Except when you need a bodyguard for a swanky event," Beckett replies with a raised brow. "I think we might need to retire Debbie's efforts that involve hanging on your arm."

Beckett's about to reach out and grab Castle's hands when their waiter appears again. As a helper whisks away the dirty dishes, the waiter delivers dessert and an explanation.

"Since his efforts at instruction have failed miserably, Chef Jean said it's his responsibility to provide the dessert Rick's never managed to master," he says as he sets the ceramic dish on their table, another helper having stepped forward to deliver clean plates and flatware. After catching Beckett's eye, their server turns back to Castle. "He said he'd understand if partaking of this soufflé is too painful, in which case the regular dessert menu remains available."

Shaking his head, Castle manages to reply. "For a lesser dessert, I might try to take a principled stand. But I'd only hurt myself and my lovely companion. Tell Jean thanks and …" Beckett loses the thread as Castle switches to speaking French.

With a pleased nod, the waiter attempts to depart. He only makes it as far as the next table before Theodore the currency trader catches his arm and says, "Hey, I didn't see a soufflé on the menu. That's what I'd like."

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's not possible," the waiter replies politely but firmly. "This," he says with a gesture towards the table where Beckett and Castle sit while watching this exchange, "is an anniversary celebration arranged in advance." With that, the waiter frees himself and returns to the kitchen, leaving a disgruntled Theodore and amused Detective in his wake.

"Anniversary, huh?" Beckett says with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"We've got to start somewhere, right?" Castle asks happily. "Jean's a smart guy. He's been teasing me for years, questioning the point of having a writer as a regular guest if I never share this place with others. I know he was delighted to see us here together. Now, I just need to make sure you're sufficiently entranced before he tries to woo you," he says with a long-suffering sigh.

"No worries there, Rick," Beckett says with a smile. "He hasn't worked with me for years, protected me, put up with me…"

"True, but you haven't tasted this, yet. Jean's Grand Marnier soufflé is deadly. Why do you think I was trying to learn how to make it?" he asks with a wink.

After the first bite prompts a low, sinful moan, Castle drops his fork. "I knew it. Damn that Frenchman!"

Laughing gently at his mischief, Beckett decides to soothe rather than tease. "You have nothing to worry about, Castle. Although, I'll not dissuade you from your efforts to master this dessert," she says with a wink.

Enjoying the dessert even more for the covetous looks Theodore sends its way, Beckett wonders if she should return to their previous discussion. Opting to just let it go, she's taking another bite of this incredible dessert when Castle reopens the topic.

"Before this manna arrived, we were talking about my extraordinary muse," he segues, prompting another eye roll. "Debbie's overcome unbelievable hardships and built herself a good life. She's broken, but she's learned how to adjust. What she's accomplished deserves to be admired," Castle explains quietly.

"But I worry about her," Castle sighs. "Her connections to Alexis and Fitz might be the most meaningful relationships in her life. Don't get me wrong – if you're going to connect with two people, how can you go wrong with that pair? But are a surrogate father and sister/proxy enough for a rich life?"

"You've suffered your own tragedy," he continues, "but you're not just adjusting, you're healing. You're working to make yourself even stronger. You connect with the people you meet on your cases and the people you work with. I saw that passion, that drive, right from the start. And since then, I've seen it grow."

"Not without setbacks," Beckett says, thinking of Demming and Josh while unaware that her hand has migrated to her scar.

"Like any good story," Castle says gently. "Besides, weren't you the one who told me your cracks were healing? Hasn't your work with Dr. Burke helped you get even stronger?"

"For you," Beckett whispers.

"Maybe a little," Castle whispers back while taking her hand to make clear that this isn't a rebuke or refutation. "You're getting stronger for you, Kate. Getting to be who you want to be. If I help, if the thought of us helps, then I'm a lucky man."

"Rick, I don't want to share you anymore. Can we leave?" Beckett asks with wide, hopeful eyes. With a quick nod, Castle stands and moves to help Beckett rise.

"As anxious as I am to spend time with you, I think we should pay, right?" she tries to joke to regain some of her composure.

"It's taken care of," Castle assures her. "I mentioned it when I asked the waiter to thank Jean for us."

Wondering if she should be upset about his presumption, Beckett decides that she really doesn't care and instead welds herself to Castle's side as they make their way to the car. The drive back to the beach house is quiet, with both of them enjoying the company and the quiet peace they've built by finally sharing of themselves today.

Beckett's wistful sigh as they pull into Castle's driveway catches his attention. "Don't worry, Kate. We'll say hi to your dad and Alexis and then spend some time together. I don't think they'll begrudge us some private time. I think they might even be happy for us."

Knowing he's right, Beckett reaches up and kisses his cheek after he helps her from the car. She really is lucky, she marvels as they walk to the house hand-in-hand. Not only are she and Castle here together, despite the strife, the fights, and the hurt feelings, but they're not alone. Her father seems comfortable, happier than she's seen him in years. And they might even enjoy the cautious approval of Castle's daughter. There will be challenges, but she's not going to worry about those now. Tonight's for celebrating how far they've come.

The house is quiet when they enter, which disappoints her a little. She'd hoped to pass along their greetings and then retreat with Castle. Instead, they'll have to stay nearby and in appropriate condition to receive Jim and Alexis when they return from their 'date.' Beckett's been enjoying daydreams about how this day could end if circumstances were different and if those aren't possible, she was hoping for at least another opportunity to cuddle with Castle.

"Would you like something to drink?" Castle offers, disrupting her musing.

"Wine?" she suggests to a ready nod.

As Castle attends to their drinks, Beckett drifts over to the bookshelf. The beach house has a library, so this shelf is used for pictures and keepsakes rather than books. Picking up a frame, Beckett studies a photo of Castle and Alexis on the beach. She's young – maybe four or five? She's wearing an adorable swimsuit, a full-bodied green confection that looks as much like a dress as swimming attire. Castle's in the picture, too, bare-chested and nose white with zinc oxide sunscreen obviously applied by his daughter. Alexis is looking down at their sand castle while Castle's looking adoringly at his daughter.

"We've been had," Castle's gentle voice startles her. Turning to face him after replacing the photo, she sees him with empty wineglasses and a bottle in one hand and a note in the other.

"_Dearest Father_," he reads with an indulgent look, "_Jim and I thought that you and Kate might need a little more time together. We'll apologize for our ruse when you come back to the city. I'm staying with Paige tonight. See you at home tomorrow night – it's my turn to cook and Kate's invited. Behave yourself. __Love, Alexis_. _P.S. After this, you're on your own_," Castle finishes reading, looking up at Beckett while blushing slightly at the notion of having been set up by his daughter. "Oh," he says, "your dad added a note that says '_Call me next week_.'"

Castle misinterprets the intense stare that Beckett's leveling at him right now. "Kate, I swear," he says around a gulp as she starts to move toward him, "I had no idea. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or presume …," he starts before Beckett wraps her arms around his neck and silences him with a kiss. Her giggle ends the kiss, but she couldn't avoid amusement from Castle's confused reaction to her approach and his inability to do anything with his hands full.

"Relax, Rick," she chides, "I think it was sweet." Stepping away from him, she takes the note and sets it on a nearby table. "Let's not lose that," she says, thinking that it would go well with a sealed letter and broken beaker. Claiming his free hand she pulls to get them moving.

"Remember when I woke you up this morning?" she asks, walking backwards to look at him as she tugs him toward the stairs.

"Vividly," Castle admits with a sexy smile.

"I admitted that I've dreamed about walking on the beach with you for years. You know what else I've dreamed about?" she asks in a sultry voice that seems to be inhibiting Castle's breathing.

"What's that?" he manages to whisper.

"I just bet," Beckett starts as her heel backs into the first step, telling her to climb while continuing to pull Castle along, "that you've got an enormous, opulent tub in your room, don't you?"

"I do," Castle confirms, his confidence returning now that he's less fearful of misinterpreting Beckett's intentions.

"Doesn't a nice, long bath together sound like a perfect way to enjoy our wine?" she husks.

"I like the way you think, partner," Castle replies in a low growl, moving of his own volition as he closes the gap with Beckett.

"Of course," she adds, just before he catches her, "if we're going to take a bath anyway, we should probably get dirty first."

* * *

A/N2: The Stone Creek Inn is a real place. I've never been there, but it looks fantastic and I'll try to visit if I ever find myself in the Hamptons. References to the looks and history of the Inn are taken from online information, but everything else is fiction.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.

A/N: Back from the Hamptons at last! More below.

* * *

"Ready for your triumphant return?" Fitz asks as she joins him at a table in the coffee shop around the corner from the precinct, crowded with bleary-eyed workers starting the work week. He's dressed for battle in a grey pinstripe power suit and shoes that reflect the slightest glimmer of light. The only sartorial hint of his usual humor is his tie, which she's sure was picked because it perfectly matches the bruising around his nose and eyes.

"Don't get my hopes up, Fitz," Beckett says as she gently lowers herself onto her chair, careful of her weary muscles. "There's no guarantee that I'll get my badge back today."

"I'm confident," Fitz says happily. "Trust me, I've been looking forward to meeting Victoria Gates. I think I've got a good measure of her. We'll at least get you back to desk duty, if not returned in full."

Fitz looks so confident sitting there that Beckett doesn't have the heart to disagree. She's looking forward to getting back to the precinct, but she's also got to admit that an impromptu vacation also sounds very appealing now that she and Castle are together and on the same page.

"She's not bad, Fitz, just by-the-book," Beckett cautions. "I don't want to alienate her, I just want things to go back to normal."

"That's the plan. First step: your coffee, Detective," Fitz says. It's clear from his words and intonation that Fitz's behavior has been influenced by a certain writer. One sip of her regular order confirms the conspiracy and she shoots him a raised brow to let him know that she sees right through this setup.

"Rick might have suggested that some caffeine wouldn't go amiss," Fitz chuckles, not at all abashed at having been found out.

"Don't get me wrong, Fitz," Beckett says soothingly after blowing across the top of her coffee to cool it down, "I wish he could be here for our meeting. But with me still on administrative leave and Gates not among his biggest fans, it's safest to tread lightly right now."

"I'm glad you said that," Fitz says, "because I'd like to talk about how to proceed with your captain. I've got some ideas, if you'd like to hear them?"

* * *

"Captain Gates, I'd like you to meet William Fitzpatrick, my attorney," Beckett says after entering Gates' office half-an-hour later.

As Gates and Fitz exchange pleasantries, Beckett takes note of Fitz's change in demeanor. Gone is the ebullient counselor doling out kind advice with gentle humor. This is Fitz's litigator persona as described during their strategy discussion.

"Thank you for coming in so promptly, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Gates says as she ushers Beckett and Fitz to seats in front of her desk. As Beckett takes moves to sit, she can see Ryan and Esposito lingering at their desks, failing miserably at hiding their efforts to watch the proceedings. At least Ryan's kind enough to flash her a thumbs-up gesture.

"Before we get started," Gates says to kick off the meeting, "I should provide you with an update. Detective Beckett, you missed a very eventful weekend," she says with a lilt in her voice. "In the broadest strokes, your _ex-husband_," Gates speaks with obvious disdain, "exposed a widespread fraud and racketeering operation."

"This must involve the group that followed Rogan to Castle's loft?" Beckett surmises.

"Exactly. It seems that in his desire to collect Medicaid benefits for his spouse, Mr. O'Leary needed the assistance of others to simulate physician and facility approvals. That brought him to the attention of an organized crime ring, which co-opted his scam into a greater fraudulent enterprise," Gates explains. "I believe you'll recall, Mr. Fitzpatrick, that Mr. O'Leary claimed to have information he'd exchange in consideration for reducing the sentencing recommendations pertaining to some of his charges?"

"That's correct, Captain," Fitz says, again surprising Beckett with his formality. "He was discussing the possibility of a plea arrangement before he made his escape last Thursday."

"One of the sheriff's deputies was involved in the criminal operation – when Mr. O'Leary recognized him at the station during your meeting with him, he knew his time was limited and made his escape," Gates explains. "That deputy is one of twelve arrests made over the weekend, in addition to the four here. And based on the statements and evidence gathered so far, it looks like this ring was involved in a number of other illegal activities. The investigation will likely last for weeks, if not months."

"And Rogan?" Beckett feels compelled to ask.

"Mr. O'Leary is in a dire situation," Gates says while casting Beckett a sympathetic look. "As you know, just his activities from Thursday and Friday of last week will result in years of jail time. He assaulted three people," she says with a gesture toward Fitz, "two of whom were police officers. He imprisoned Officer Sachs in the trunk of a car. He held four of you hostage, impersonated an officer, and engaged in multiple firearms violations."

Heartened to see that Beckett is nodding along rather than fighting or protesting O'Leary's innocence, Gates continues. "But the biggest concern for him is that any leverage he had for a plea bargain is gone – we have his conspirators well in hand. It's unlikely that he'll have anything to offer the DA. But, if not sentencing recommendations, I suspect we could see to it that he serves his time in a different New York penitentiary than the others," Gates says with an effort to be kind.

Beckett recognizes this olive branch for what it is – a nod toward Rogan's connection to Beckett, but one that's ultimately worthless. If an organized crime ring goes down because of Rogan, he's unlikely to last long in captivity whether he's dispatched directly by those he betrayed or indirectly by their agents. As much as he deserves everything that's about to fall on him and as much as she hates him for the turmoil he's caused, Beckett doesn't want Rogan to die. She can't deny her sorrow as she contemplates his bleak future.

"Perhaps," Fitz says, breaking into the conversation and surprising both Gates and Beckett.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Gates says in response, "but there's not much ambiguity here. Mr. O'Leary's days of freedom are at an end."

"Certainly," Fitz says as if Gates had just agreed with him. "Of course, with racketeering and the FCA as federal crimes, sentencing recommendations and potential incarceration locations aren't limited to New York State. It might be the case that Mr. O'Leary finds himself serving time in a distant facility, one more insulated and isolated from those of his criminal compatriots."

Taken aback, Gates levels an assessing stare at Fitz. "That depends, of course, on the decisions of those prosecuting Mr. O'Leary. It'll be days, if not weeks, before the interested parties make those decisions."

"Perhaps. I'm confident the priorities and charges will be specified soon," Fitz says self-assuredly with a small chuckle, "and that Mr. O'Leary will find himself addressed separately from others involved."

There are so many things going on in this meeting already that Beckett takes a mental step back to appreciate the drama. Clearly, Fitz (probably with Castle's prompting or participation) already thought about what would happen to Rogan and has a plan to increase his chances of survival. It's also apparent that Gates didn't anticipate Fitz would be aware of the situation, much less in a position to intervene. Regardless of her other personality traits, Gates is a careful tactician – she's had to be to reach her level of success as a black woman in the NYPD. She's on edge now, wondering at the leverage Fitz seems to have and what it might mean for the rest of today's discussion.

"Perhaps you're right," Gates concedes with a careful nod, probably anxious to get them moving onto the real reason for this meeting. "Why don't we get to business. I'd asked Detective Beckett for this meeting so that we could document when she learned of her particular circumstances and what she did once in possession of that information."

With a nod, Fitz turns to his side and opens the briefcase-style document case he carried in to the office. From the case he extracts one fat and two thin three-ring binders. Standing, he's about to take a step when he pauses. "Permission to approach?" he asks with a playful gleam in his eye.

"Permission granted," Gates says with a laugh. Beckett has to stop herself from letting her jaw drop – Iron Gates just laughed. She almost giggled. And all for some silly joke casting her as a judge rather than a police captain. Maybe Fitz really does have her pegged. He must be hell-on-wheels in a courtroom, Beckett marvels.

Handing one thin binder to Gates, Fitz gives the other to Beckett before retaking his seat. "Captain," he says formally but kindly, "I'm happy to follow your lead as we discuss Detective Beckett's situation. If you'd prefer, I've prepared an agenda for our discussion that might help us move things along."

With a raised brow, Gates gives Fitz another look. She's impressed, Beckett realizes, but trying not to show it. Looking forward to some good theater, Beckett decides she's going to sit back and watch these two navigate around each other.

"Please," Gates invites. "You have the floor, counselor," she intones, still acting as if she's a judge.

"Thank you, Captain. In your binders," Fitz begins, nodding at the binder that each woman holds before her, "you'll find the documentation for the first of our three discussion topics for this morning."

Beckett's embarrassed and annoyed to realize that her raised brow and pointed look _exactly _match the look on Gates' face – even worse, Gates realized it, too. Both of them are wondering why they have documentation for only part of the discussion and what else they're going to talk about. Beckett knows one of the remaining topics, but the other must be what Fitz meant when he suggested that she "extend him some trust in protecting her affairs" during their strategy meeting.

Ignoring their reactions, Fitz continues speaking while opening his own fat binder. True to form, Fitz's materials are well organized – she can see the dividers that separate the other two sections in his binder, while the thin versions both have flags and highlighting throughout.

"The materials in your hands, which I'm happy to supply in electronic form, contain the chronology of the thirteen days, including today, that Detective Beckett has been aware of her marital situation. Beginning with receipt of the County Clerk's records of her marriage the Wednesday before last," he says while tapping the first page, "through the apprehension, detention, escape, and recapture of her ex-husband and his criminal compatriots," he says, tapping on the last page of their binders, which is only the last page of his first section.

Again, Beckett smiles inside. The last several pages are arrest reports and judicial filings that demonstrate that not only did Fitz already know everything that Gates told them at the outset of today's meeting, but he'd had the time and resources to secure the information, process it, and package it nicely for this discussion. Looks like Debbie enjoyed some overtime this weekend.

Fitz recalls their attention by flipping back to the start of the binder. "After the County Clerk's records, you'll see a summarized day-by-day accounting of activities that led to the prompt resolution of Detective Beckett's situation. Behind that is a precise accounting of Detective Beckett's activities during that time, followed by the timesheet entries and descriptions for myself and the members of the team who participated in this engagement."

Rather than focus on the material that sits in her lap, Beckett chooses to watch Gates. The Captain is flipping through the binder, reviewing the information with a level of attention usually reserved for case reports. She suspects that Gates is looking for errors or omissions, simultaneously impressed and annoyed at the completeness of Fitz's report.

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick. This looks comprehensive, well documented, and intuitively organized," Gates compliments. "I just have a few questions."

"Please," Fitz replies, "I'm here to help."

"First, I'm curious as to how Detective Beckett's situation initially came to light," Gates asks, not unreasonably.

"As he's my client, I'd ordinarily defer on such a question, but Mr. Castle has already authorized me to provide an explanation," Fitz says smoothly. "As disclosed in the affidavit behind tab 5, Mr. Castle requested that I obtain Ms. Beckett's records in relation to a family law issue."

Trying to hide her interest, Beckett's curious about this answer herself – obviously Castle wouldn't lead with his snooping that initially identified her marital status, so Fitz must be describing the way that Castle obtained the corroborating evidence.

"Family law issue?" Gates follows up.

"As you know," Fitz continues smoothly as if Gates' question was part of a script, "the NYPD holds a global liability release and waiver for Mr. Castle pertaining to any injuries sustained in his role as a consultant," Fitz says while Gates nods along.

"Two years ago, during a case, Mr. Castle asked Ms. Beckett if she would care for his daughter in the event of his death," Fitz explains while Beckett's thrown back to recollections of curses and exploding coffee machines. "At the time, the arrangement was relatively informal. Since then, Mr. Castle has grown concerned that with his mother's advancing age and downturns in employment opportunities for Alexis' mother, the disposition of custody in the event of his demise would become unduly fraught or contentious. Obtaining Ms. Beckett's files was a part of my remit to establish the intent and framework for Alexis' adoption, if necessary."

Oh, Castle. While she knows that this was a convenient way to justify a search into her records, Beckett knows Castle well enough to know that the adoption framework is probably in place. The irony is that in such an event, it's most likely that Alexis would be helping Beckett through the struggle with grief, rather than the reverse.

"But she's nearly eighteen, isn't she?" Gates asks with some confusion. "Why the worry about adoption?"

"Yes, Alexis is nearly eighteen," Fitz confirms, perhaps not realizing that by dropping her surname he's confirming that he knows Castle's daughter very well. "But Mr. Castle's concerns remain, for three reasons. First, there are a number of trusts to which Alexis will not gain access until she's twenty-one. Second, recent overtures by Alexis' mother have heightened Mr. Castle's concerns about custody. Third, Mr. Castle takes great care to protect the people in his life from risks, often without regard for the likelihood of occurrence. As you should know."

Gates had been nodding along with Fitz's explanation, until the last line. "What do you mean – as I should know?"

"Collins," is Fitz's only reply, but it's apparently a spectacular one. Whatever it means has caused the blood to drain from Gates' face, leaving her more off-balance than Beckett can ever recall seeing her.

"That was you?" Gates asks, momentarily forgetting Beckett's presence. Fitz nods in reply, remaining silent.

"But that was right after I arrived, right after I kicked him out," Gates says, trying to make sense of the situation.

"A situation with which he was not happy," Fitz says with a slightly disapproving tone, "but he thought it was critical for the 12th to have strong leadership and no distractions following Captain Montgomery's passing."

As Gates sits in silence, Beckett wonders what transpired back then. While she was healing at her father's cabin, Gates must've been in a situation where Fitz could lend assistance. That he did so at Castle's request and without her knowledge must really be twisting Gates right now. Thinking back to last week's talk with Fitz, Beckett has an idea that Castle's watch-list extends at least as far as Captain Gates.

"This doesn't change anything," Gates says, concerned about being compromised or indebted by Castle's invisible protection.

"Of course not," Fitz agrees. "In fact, I wasn't authorized to mention that to you, so I ask that you hold this part of our discussion in confidence. And I ask you, Detective," Fitz says as he turns to Beckett, "to forget anything you've heard on this topic and to not risk unraveling any of our work by digging into it yourself."

Refusing to speak until he's secured a hesitant nod from each woman, Fitz restarts the conversation with his own confirming nod and a turn back to Gates. "Captain, you had another question?"

"Yes," she confirms, "though I'm almost afraid to ask," she mumbles good-naturedly. After Beckett's stress-relieving huff and Fitz's gentle smile, Gates continues. "Your accounting for the time spent by you and your team on this matter is well-documented in hours but not costs. I'm sure that if we're held to account for Detective Beckett's efforts, we'll be asked about the financial ramifications and whether any department resources were used in this effort."

"I included only the hours expended because our effort on this matter was covered under Mr. Castle's retainer arrangement," Fitz replies. "To help ballpark it for you, my standard hourly rate is $680, inclusive of expenses, Ms. Delmonico's is $385 plus expenses, and any others bill out at $250."

Gulping as she converts the hourly total to what would've been billed in the absence of Castle's retainer, Gates mumbles something about having chosen the wrong career. Beckett, meanwhile considers the value of a luxury car to be a fair trade to escape the situation she created. Of course, she didn't pay, which is something she's going to have to take up with Castle.

While Gates is scribbling notes and calculations on her pages, Fitz catches Beckett's eye with a smile and a wink. Oh, he's enjoying himself, Beckett sees. He can hide it under his professional demeanor, but the attorney she's come to like so much is still lurking under the courtroom veneer.

"Did you have any more questions?" Fitz asks as Gates seems to pause in her review.

"Not for now," Gates replies. "May I contact you again if any come to mind?"

"Certainly," Fitz replies amiably, letting a little of his true personality shine through. "My contact information is in the front pocket of your binder. I'd be happy to answer any questions about this material or anything else that might trouble you," he says kindly, perhaps alluding to his earlier discussion.

"Thank you," Gates replies in what Beckett thinks is a sincere tone. "Now," Gates says as she closes her binder, "you mentioned two other topics?"

"Yes, indeed," Fitz says with a smile. "You'll appreciate that as a counselor, it's my job to protect my clients. Some clients, like Mr. Castle, seem to be a lightning rod for activity that requires legal intervention," he says as he laughs. Surprisingly, Gates chuckles too, adding her own, "Yes, I can imagine."

"But it's also my job to anticipate potential trouble, to address and resolve situations before they arise," Fitz says, growing a little more serious. "This part of the job isn't much fun – I've got to think the worst of people and prepare for situations we hope never to see. That brings us to the second topic for today," he says as he flips to the next section in his binder.

"As I've discussed with Detective Beckett, once we knew about her marital situation, there are a stunning number of sources that should have revealed this secret long ago," Fitz explains, reminding Beckett of their earlier discussions. "She told me that you were very kind to think of the potential ramifications to her career. It's my fervent hope that the binder on your desk contains sufficient information to address any issues raised by the NYPD regarding Ms. Beckett's personal history."

At this point Fitz pauses to make sure that he has the full attention of both women before proceeding. His build-up has Beckett slightly on edge, despite her comments in their strategy session where she turned herself over to his care.

"If it is not, however, we are prepared to affirmatively protect and defend Ms. Beckett's career position and trajectory," Fitz says while rapping a knuckle on the open folder on his lap. Surprised by Fitz's strong tone, Beckett still pauses to appreciate that he worked in the police mantra of 'protect and defend' into his presentation. Taking in Gates' wry look, she can tell that she's not alone in her admiration.

"And what, exactly, does that mean?" Gates asks pointedly.

"Simply that Ms. Beckett did nothing wrong," Fitz says in a more reassuring tone, "and that it would be hypocritical and prejudicial for the NYPD to consider any overt disciplinary measures or clandestine constraints on her career progression."

"How so?" Gates asks the obvious follow-up, at this point knowing that she's directly leading Fitz's planned discussion.

"I'm glad you asked," Fitz says, clapping his hands together. "Not to give away the store, but I think we can let you peek behind the curtain, considering how fair you've been under the circumstances," Fitz replies. Remarkably, he sounds genuine and it seems that Gates took his comments in this way. Perhaps because he's demonstrated that he doesn't need her support, Gates seems more willing to extend a little trust.

"First, obviously, is the raft of anti-discrimination laws that pertain to marital relations, spousal privilege, and personal liability," Fitz says. "Any attempted prosecution that assumes one spouse is responsible for the bad acts of the other, due to nothing beyond the fact of their marriage, fails on its face, both as a matter of common sense as well as established precedent. Can you imagine," Fitz says with some glee, "what would happen if we could dismiss anyone who had a misbehaving spouse? Good lord, New York alone would grind to a halt overnight, suddenly incapable of performing basic functions much less run the judiciary, constabulary, or financial sector," he says as he chortles. Despite her efforts, Gates can't help but crack a smile.

"Second, let's bring it a little closer to home. Ms. Beckett and I fully appreciate how bad it looks that she didn't realize she was married," Fitz says while Beckett can't help but nod. "However, should the NYPD choose to take that tack, they'd best ensure that their own house is in order."

With this, Fitz turns to the next tab in his binder, pinching the sheets in that section and holding them up in profile, so that both women can see the half-inch thick section of documents. "Over the course of her career, the NYPD itself or the other law enforcement agencies with which it interacted conducted dozens of background checks on Detective Beckett. _None_ of those we've identified thus far discovered her marriage."

"It's not typically an employer's job to tell its employees whether they're married or not," Gates says sardonically.

"True," Fitz admits with a laugh, "though that's another fun scenario to contemplate – makes me glad I'm my own boss. But, my point is simply that it will be more difficult for anyone to challenge Ms. Beckett's situation when they share the surprise, despite having invested funds and labor hours to conduct an investigation that should've revealed the story. I don't think _anyone_," Fitz says with his own raised brow, "would want to explain how basic a detail like marital status could've been repeatedly missed by the agencies created to protect our security and civil welfare."

"True," Gates concedes in turn. "Given how this conversation has progressed, I can guess the next section of your binder. If I'm right, I'm not going to be happy, am I?" Gates asks with a tone moving from amused to almost angry. But, as Beckett anticipates the next section, Gates' is a fair response.

"No, you'll not be happy," Fitz says with regret. "In my defense, I'll say only this: I categorically refused to consider anyone in the 12th. I didn't look and I instructed my staff not to look. But, I know that this defense is confrontational and intrusive," Fitz agrees.

"How bad is it?" Gates asks with a wince.

"I stopped at ten examples," Fitz says gently. "For all our peace of mind, I'm not going to share them. But, should it ever become necessary to compare Ms. Beckett's situation – or, more on point, her link to a spouse or partner engaged in criminal activity – to that of others in the NYPD, hers doesn't even register on the scale of what's been allowed and ignored by others."

Rubbing her forehead, Gates absorbs this information while probably thinking about the same thing as Beckett: how many of their colleagues or superiors have gotten into worse situations than hers? From the way Fitz talks, it wasn't difficult to find ten examples, all of which are more egregious that her unknown marriage to a soon-to-be felon.

"I was never a big Ronald Reagan fan," Gates finally says, making a reference that Beckett doesn't quite follow.

"Some of his movies weren't bad," Fitz says with some return of his humor. "But the notion of 'mutually assured destruction' didn't seem like a stable way to conduct foreign policy. Then again, we're still here to talk about it, so things could be worse," he says with a laugh. "I don't like adopting the same approach for Ms. Beckett's situation and I very much hope that today's discussion is all we'll ever need on this topic. Nobody wins, except maybe criminals, if we have to push things to the point where this information would need to come out."

"Mr. Fitzpatrick," Gates says after another pause, "you've obviously known all about me from the day I stepped into this precinct, if not before," she says with a slightly irritated look. "So, you know that I came from Internal Affairs. I find that you've put me in a difficult position. So far this morning I've learned that you acted on my behalf in the past and that you possess information damaging to that NYPD that you could use in a labor dispute with one of my direct reports. While our conversation has been cordial, I'm growing concerned about how this looks on paper, the implications that could be construed from what we've discussed."

To his credit, Fitz looks unsurprised by Gates' concerns and addresses them much more like the attorney she met at his office rather than the one who's been operating so effectively in this meeting.

"I understand your concerns, Captain Gates," Fitz says earnestly, "and I won't dismiss them or try to paper over them. But perhaps I can resolve some of your anxiety. First," he says, looking directly at Gates to drive this point home, "as to the matter of working on your behalf – prove it," he says, suddenly impish.

Caught off guard, Gates blinks and asks, "What do you mean?"

"What I mean," Fitz explains gently, "is that there is no record of anything I may or may not have done on your behalf. More to the point, Mr. Castle instructed me to keep any of my activities on behalf of his non-relations confidential – I broke that trust to build some goodwill between us. If you want to inform Mr. Castle of my transgression or file an ethics complaint with the state bar association, I won't shirk the consequences of my decision." To Beckett's relief, Gates is shaking her head, apparently uninterested in pursuing this matter. "And, again with Ms. Beckett's agreement, I'll promise you this: I have no intention of sharing this part of our discussion with Mr. Castle. He trusts me to protect him, and as far as I'm concerned, not knowing about this part of our conversation is in his best interest."

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Gates replies. "I would appreciate your discretion."

"I believe you were also concerned about the nature of my materials being construed as a threat or some sort of public relations blackmail. The only thing I can do in this regard is to ask you to have some faith in me," Fitz says simply. "I'd like to think that what you've learned today provides you with some confidence in how I prefer to do things. Everything I have here," he says with another rap on the binder, "is in the public domain, so there really is no unique threat. Nonetheless, I plan to take it back to my office and bury it. I don't ever want to be in the situation of using it."

Gates is nodding and about to speak when Fitz lifts a finger and ventures one last thought. "Despite how you might view my main client and his day-to-day antics," Fitz says with an indulgent smile, "he's been very careful to do nothing to undermine the effectiveness or reputation of the NYPD. As much trust as you can extend to me, I'd like you to know that even if I were forced into a situation where I thought an aggressive approach was warranted, he'd likely hold me back or redirect my efforts."

Ordinarily, Beckett would have thought that bringing Castle up in this conversation with Gates would be a terrible idea. But from the look on her face, it seems like Gates is thinking more about whether she needs to revise any opinions than she is about letting her impression of Castle undermine this portion of their meeting.

"I was warned," Gates says slowly, "when I couldn't keep Mr. Castle out of the precinct, that in addition to his friendship with the mayor, he was represented by formidable legal counsel. Despite the warning, I think I've underestimated you," Gates says with a gracious nod. "Not in skills, but in temperament. I'd like to hope that we could build a little trust between us, and I appreciate how forthright you've been today."

"Good," Fitz says happily, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Here's hoping that our next topic doesn't undermine all of that effort."

"That sounds ominous," Gates replies, and Beckett agrees. Still not quite believing that she gave Fitz the go-ahead for this final discussion topic, Beckett crosses her fingers and hopes for the best.

"Let me start with a story that'll help explain this last topic, and probably some of what we've already discussed," Fitz says to set the stage. "I'm a sole practitioner these days, but that wasn't always the case. Before hanging out my own shingle, I directed the Labor &amp; Employment practice at Palmer Pittman LLP."

At this news, Gates' eyebrows shoot up. Fitz doesn't miss her reaction.

"Surprised?" he asks. When Gates seems uncomfortable in replying, Fitz lets her off the hook. "It's okay, Captain, I know what you're thinking. I helped build PP's fierce reputation, part of which was earned at the expense of the city in general and the NYPD in particular. But, as you might've noticed from my behavior here today, there were aspects of my personality that didn't match well with a cutthroat corporate law giant."

"The first time I met Rick Castle," Fitz continues, "I thought he was a braying jackass. A friend of mine brought me to a poker night at Rick's place. In less than three hours, that bastard figured out tells I didn't even know I had while speculating openly about my reasons for lingering at PP when it was obvious to him that I shouldn't be there. Stumbling home drunk and temporarily impoverished, I realized that I didn't have a good answer for him. A few months and an unusual friendship later, he helped me break off from PP and get my own shop off the ground."

Beckett casts Fitz a soft smile, happy to hear the note of satisfaction in his voice. Having seen him in his element, she knows how content he is in his current situation. And even knowing where this discussion is going, she didn't know how Fitz planned to introduce the topic, so she's happy to learn this little bit about the past shared by Castle and Fitz.

"I've never been happier. I'd never realized how much of the stress and tension from PP was bleeding into my home life. My wife and kids commented on the change immediately. Even now, they talk about how much better things are in my 'second act,'" he says with affection.

"So, I have a deep obligation to Rick. I've looked for ways to repay my debt to him. Not monetary, because he's fine there. And not professional, because that doesn't reflect the peace he's helped me find in my personal life," Fitz says softly. "The answer finally hit me after he started coming in to the precinct. Since then, I've been working on a side project. He doesn't know about it. It started as a lark, a hope I had for my friend. But I'll share it with you now."

Slowing tugging the tab in the binder, Fitz moves to the last section of his binder.

"The irony, of course, is that this draws on skills obtained during my 'first act,' before I knew Rick," he says with a chuckle. "There are many laws that protect employees from undue restrictions and impingements upon their personal lives," Fitz says. "Sometimes, the nature of the employers affects these laws or creates exclusions or exemptions. Other times, employers simply act as if they have or should enjoy exemptions. The NYPD falls into both categories."

"What do you mean?" Gates asks, finally breaking into Fitz's monologue.

"What I mean is that while the NYPD enjoys a very narrow privilege to interfere in the personal relationships of its employees, it has occasionally claimed or threatened a wider purview for that interference," Fitz explains. "Of course," he says while rapping again on the folder in his lap, "asserting something doesn't make it true. In fact, there are established limits and precedents that prohibit the NYPD and other employers from overstepping."

"I hate to tell you this," Gates interjects with a look that says she doesn't mind breaking into Fitz's presentation at all, "but I think I know where you're going with this and I fear you're wasting your time here, counselor."

Feeling her stomach clench, Beckett turns to Fitz. He's looking at Gates quizzically, trying to understand the nature of her objection. "Forgive me, Captain, but would you please explain? I want to make sure we're on the same page," he asks.

"What I mean, Mr. Fitzpatrick, is that if I wanted to interfere with the personal relationship between Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle, I would've done so by now. There's no need to talk about labor laws or personal protections," Gates concludes with a sly look.

"What relationship?" Beckett and Fitz ask at the same time. Blushing furiously, Beckett looks from Fitz to Gates, trying to figure out what's going on, if she could really be hearing Gates correctly.

"Your relationship with Mr. Castle," Gates says with an eye roll that threatens to make her fall further into her chair.

"But I don't, I haven't…," Beckett stumbles, trying to figure out what's going on. "Do you mean that'd be okay?"

"As your counselor points out," Gates replies with some of her own humor, "there's not much I could do to prevent it, especially if we'd all like to avoid a messy fight. But are you saying that you really haven't…, Gates trails off, a slight blush spilling into her cheeks.

"It would be okay if I did?" Beckett says rather than answer Gates' question, unwilling to disclose that things have only just recently changed for them.

"You'd have to keep it out of the precinct, obviously, and definitely out of my sight," Gates says flatly. "Otherwise, don't let us stand in the way. If you're so inclined, and I'll deny saying this until my dying day, you'd be crazy not to wrap that boy up."

Gaping like a fish, it's all Beckett can do to turn to Fitz. This time it's Fitz casting the Captain an admiring glance. "Captain," he says warmly, "I must admit that I've looked forward to meeting you for a long while. Even after all that time, I've still underestimated you," he says with a grin and a nod. "You have my thanks, and my respect."

"Let's wrap this up," Gates says again brusquely, though Beckett notices the slight flush on her Captain's face. Gates reaches into a drawer and withdraws the envelope that Beckett gave her last Thursday, containing her badge and weapon.

"I had planned," Gates says slowly, "to have you return to desk duty today, and regular duty after this week, barring any surprises. But perhaps a slight adjustment would be warranted." Turning to Fitz, Gates asks, "Counselor, it's my assumption that increasing her current administrative leave slightly wouldn't mar Detective Beckett's personnel record?"

"The fact of the administrative leave is already present," Fitz says with what looks like a knowing smile. "The impact of that event will not change if the duration of the leave changes by a small increment."

Nodding, Gates stands and extends the envelope to Beckett. As she rises, Fitz does, too. While he packs away his binder and prepares to leave, Beckett reaches out for the envelope.

"Detective, I expect to see you back at your desk Wednesday morning," Gates says sternly. "Whether you choose to return before then or to use the additional time to … ensure that any potentially distracting matters outside of the precinct are addressed, is up to you." Though she's trying to keep a straight face, Beckett can't miss the upturned corner of Gates' mouth or the glimmer in her eye.

"Thank you, sir," Beckett replies, hardly believing that Gates just gave her time to "address" her situation with Castle. Incredulous or not, she'll take the time. "I'll see you Wednesday morning."

"Good," Gates replies with a nod. "As you'll be on desk duty, perhaps you can leave your shadow at home until next week?"

"Yes, sir," Beckett replies. It's still more than a fair trade, and having Gates observe Castle's early-relationship strut is probably too much to ask. Beckett decides that she'll just have to make sure that any exuberance on Castle's part is 'exercised' out of him before his return to the precinct.

Moving to accompany Fitz out of Gates' office, she notices a knowing look on her attorneys face. Before she can ask, he leans over and whispers "You and Rick might be better at noticing tells, but I'm not too bad myself." And with a little eyebrow waggle, Beckett realizes that he knew exactly what she was thinking about. Blushing furiously, she's about to walk out with Fitz before a last thought occurs to her. Turning before opening the door to Gates' office, she turns back to her Captain.

"Sir?" she asks, causing Gates to look up from her renewed review of Fitz' binder. "Thank you," Beckett says earnestly. At Gates' nod, Beckett continues. "What we discussed, including any … relationship developments … is in confidence, correct?"

"Yes, Detective," Gates replies. "I think we'd all prefer it that way. Did you have any concerns?"

"No concerns," Beckett replies, looking out of the office at Ryan and Esposito, who are again trying to pretend like they're not watching the proceedings. "Thanks again, Captain."

"I'd say 'just don't do it again,'" Gates replies cheekily, "but we'll go with 'if you do it again, you'd better remember it and invite me to the event,'" she smirks.

"Yes, sir," Beckett replies with an embarrassed smile before turning and opening the door. Slipping an arm through Fitz's, she walks with him to the elevator, unabashedly using him as an excuse to avoid Ryan and Esposito right now.

She's got some planning to do. While she certainly knows how she'll spend some of her newfound time with Castle, they now have a new project. Since Gates knows about them before the boys or Lanie, there are certain scenarios they can explore, certain pools that can be messed with or pranks that can be repaid with interest. And, topping it all, she can look forward to Castle's return to the precinct next week – back to normal, but better. Anxious to embrace these opportunities, she nearly drags Fitz into the elevator in her haste to get started.

* * *

A/N2: This is the end of Coming Clean, which I'll mark as complete for now. I need to step away for a bit and I have plans for other stories when I return, but I wouldn't be surprised if I come back to this story yet again to explore the big reveal to Lanie and the boys. Or Martha – she's missed everything due to her trip to LA, so that could pose a fun opportunity, too. At any rate, for those of you who soldiered through what I thought would be a one or two chapter addition to a one-shot, many thanks! Thanks, too, for the reviews, PMs, and kind words – they are greatly appreciated.


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